


A Fortuitous Commission

by stayicy



Series: Rocks in the Road [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Fluff, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Strike Team Delta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-09-19 05:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayicy/pseuds/stayicy
Summary: “No. No alternate selves or doppelgängers or anything of the sort. We actually got a lot of the additional people’s names and information.”Natasha raises an eyebrow and takes a bite of her risotto. “Oh? Do tell.”Coulson swallows thickly. Natasha tenses; this is the most unsure she’s seen him since Loki had brainwashed Clint.“It seems that the additional people,” he says quietly, “had already died. Records indicated a birth and death date for all of them. We did some digging, and it all checked out. Somehow they all came back to life.” He meets Natasha’s wide eyes. “Did Thor ever tell you about his older sister?”~Or, things had been getting easier for Natasha. It's her own fault, really, for thinking they would stay that way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up story to A Long Minute, so if you haven't read that yet, I would recommend you do!! Thanks for choosing this story to read. I hope you enjoy it. :)

“If you guys aren’t down here in ten seconds, I’m going to have to eat all of these cinnamon rolls by myself!”

Natasha patiently awaits the desperate scramble of the Barton children as they race to the kitchen table.

Cooper makes it there first, having the longest legs, but his sister is right behind him, shoving him out of the way to grin sheepishly at Natasha. Nate toddles in last, his hair a mess.

“It’s not our fault Nate takes _forever_ in the bathroom,” Lila says, taking a seat. “I told him he should practice his morning routine before school starts, but he didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t take _forever_,” Nate says defensively, sticking his tongue out at his sister.

“Yeah, you took even longer,” Cooper points out to Lila, pointing his fork at her. “Why would you straighten your hair on the first day of school? The heat and humidity are just going to undo what you took almost an hour–“

“Alright, alright, stop arguing,” Natasha cuts in, giving all three of them a stern look. “Come on, hurry and eat breakfast before it gets cold.”

“And then you take us to school, Auntie Nat?” Nate asks excitedly, his mouth full of cinnamon roll.

“Chew with your mouth closed, bud,” Cooper tells him.

“You’re going to brush your teeth and fix your hair, and _then_ I’m taking you to school,” Natasha corrects, ruffling Nate’s hair. “And then I can _finally_ have the house all to myself!”

The three kids laugh. They all know if Natasha could have her way, they would stay home with her all day.

Lila finishes chewing her bite and gazes out the window. “I wish Mom and Dad were here,” she says quietly. “They’ve never missed a first day before.”

Natasha sighs to herself. She knew making a tasty breakfast wasn’t going to mask the fact that the kids’ parents weren’t going to be there for the first day of school, especially Nate’s first day of pre-school.

Laura and Clint had gone on a retreat to work out some of their issues, both with each other and themselves. Laura was still having trouble coming to grips with the fact that her husband murdered hundreds of people. She was also dealing with the psychological toll of being dead and then alive again; Natasha could relate to that. Clint, meanwhile, had also been feeling tremendous amounts of guilt over what he’d done, and had convinced himself that he needed to leave his family, scared of what he was capable of. Eventually, Natasha had gotten tired of seeing them fight, and sent them off to California to work it out.

“They’ll be back before you know it,” Natasha assures Lila.

“And they’ll be nicer, too,” Cooper chimes in. “Well, hopefully. They were fighting a _lot_ before they left and they were always yelling at us.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather have them _here_ and mean than _there_ and nice,” Lila argues.

Natasha looks at her curiously. “Really?”

Lila tucks her hair behind her ear, fidgeting. “Okay, well, probably not. Mom _was_ always yelling at us for dumb stuff. But they’ve been gone for almost three weeks! What does it take to get better?”

“Whatever it takes,” Natasha answers, giving her a soft smile. She takes a deep breath. “Guys, I know two weeks feels like a long time, but imagine five _years_. Your dad had a really hard time losing you guys, and it changed him. So he has to take some time to heal himself, okay?”

Lila and Cooper nod. Nate gives Natasha a toothy grin, icing dribbling down his chin.

Natasha chuckles. “Alright, hurry up and go brush your teeth. I don’t want you guys to be late on your first day.”

They each put their dishes in the sink before running upstairs to fight over the bathroom. Natasha begins loading the dishwasher when her phone rings.

Before she can say anything other than “Hello,” Laura sobs on the other end.

“Nat, I _hate_ this,” she wails. “I hate it so much. I hate this damn humidity, I hate the yoga class they’re making us take, I hate the ugly fucking blue walls, and don’t even get me _started_ on Clint’s fucking tattoo–“

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Natasha cuts in. She turns to make sure none of the kids are downstairs yet. “What happened? You seemed like you really liked it yesterday.”

“God, I did,” Laura groans, sniffling. “It’s all just getting to me now. I don’t know if was actually enjoying this or if I was just tolerating it. But either way, I’m sick of it now. I’m just calling to let you know we’re coming back today. I’m going to book a flight after this call.”

Natasha chews on her lip, silent for a moment. She knows that Laura is expecting her to argue and insist that she and Clint stay, that deep down that’s probably what Laura wants to do – but would it really be the worst thing in the world if they came home early? Every day at the retreat is more money wasted, and the kids miss them, and Natasha _really_ misses her own bed in her apartment.

“Okay,” she finally says. “If that’s what you think is best. Do you want me to drive the kids around for a bit after I pick them up so you guys can get home and surprise them here?”

“I was thinking I’d surprise them and pick them up from school, actually,” Laura suggests. Natasha doesn’t miss the singular pronoun she uses, failing to include Clint. “So you can just hang out at the house or whatever you want to do instead if you want to stay for dinner. But if you want to go back home, I totally understand that too. You’ve been with them for a few weeks; they’re probably driving you m–“

“Laura, really, it’s fine,” Natasha cuts in, watching as the three Barton children race out the front door to the car. “I’ll join you guys for dinner. I want to hear about their first day. I’ll see you later.”

“Love you, Nat. You’re a saint. Bye.”

She doesn’t even give Natasha time to argue that she’s anything but.

~

Natasha obnoxiously slurps her iced tea until no more liquid comes up through the straw. She makes a show out of clearing her small appetizer plate and moving it to the side of the table before rummaging around in her purse for her lipstick. After applying, she pulls out a small compact mirror and studies her reflection. She looks carefree, aloof, and dangerous – exactly what she was aiming for.

“Natasha, come on, look at me,” Coulson pleads from across the table. “We haven’t spoken at all yet. Our waiter’s going to think we’re weird when she comes back to take our orders.”

“I’m sorry, _that’s_ your biggest concern?” Natasha snaps, dropping her purse by her feet. She lowers her voice and looks up at him, not masking the betrayed expression on her face. “The only reason I know about your _many_ near-death encounters is because I’m a damn good spy. It would’ve made my life a hell of a lot easier if you had sent me a text once in awhile to update me.”

Coulson sighs, drumming his fingers on the table. “I know. I’m sorry,” he says, looking contrite. “I was going to tell you and Clint, I swear. But then I got really sick, from Odium, and then...the snap and the blip, or whatever the news is calling it these days, happened, and I was snapped away, and I guess that was worse than whatever the Odium was doing, and I came back five years later...” He trails off and gives her a sad smile. “I’m guessing you know all that already.”

“And more,” Natasha retorts dryly, crossing her arms. She sighs, her expression softening. “I could really use your help, you know. It was hard enough keeping track of everything and everyone after the snap, but now that everyone’s come back...” She shakes her head and smirks at him. “Sometimes death seems like the better option.”

“You sound like Fury,” Coulson tells her, grinning. “You can take over for him when he retires.”

“Is he even working?” Natasha questions. “He told me he had something to do in space. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but I figured it best not to ask.”

The two sit in silence for a few moments. After the waiter comes to take their orders, Natasha studies Coulson curiously. Ever since he “died” to the rest of the world in 2012, he hadn’t met with her in public settings much; their meetings were usually confined to secret boardrooms, old safehouses, and the Bartons’ living room.

Coulson eventually looks up and meets her gaze. His relaxed expression sobers, and Natasha knows he knows what she’s asking without saying anything at all. Reading each other like that had to become second nature when they were working with each other.

“Nearly 3.8 billion people died when Thanos snapped his fingers,” he says, in a tone that’s businesslike yet nonchalant and so _Phil_ it makes Natasha’s heart clench. “So, by that logic, when Banner snapped his fingers, 3.8 billion people should have come back in the Blip.”

“Right,” Natasha agrees, furrowing her eyebrows. The Blip happened nearly a year ago, but world governments were taking longer than Natasha cared for to get everything back in order. “Did not everyone who came back get accounted for? 3.8 hasn’t been reached?”

Coulson shakes his head. “The opposite, actually,” he says. “We saw an unprecedented rise in population from all over the world. Nearly 5 billion people who weren’t there during those five years are here now.”

Natasha inhales sharply. “How is that possible? Where did they come from?” She suddenly thinks about her fairly recent adventure, which Coulson no doubt heard about. “Don’t tell me they’re from an alternate universe. And _especially_ don’t tell me it’s because of me and Tony.”

Coulson chuckles. “If anything, that would be an ideal situation compared to this.” The waiter comes by with their food, and the two quickly switch topics to the Barton children, before the waiter walks away. “No. No alternate selves or doppelgängers or anything of the sort. We actually got a lot of the additional people’s names and information.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow and takes a bite of her risotto. “Oh? Do tell.”

Coulson swallows thickly. Natasha tenses; this is the most unsure she’s seen him since Loki had brainwashed Clint.

“It seems that the additional people,” he says quietly, “had already died. Records indicated a birth and death date for all of them. We did some digging, and it all checked out. Somehow they all came back to life.” He meets Natasha’s wide eyes. “Did Thor ever tell you about his older sister?”

~

Natasha silently stands still, aware that her presence is sensed. It will be acknowledged when the time is right.

That time comes exactly seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds later. Clint sighs, stretches his back, and turns to face her, the lines on his face more evident today.

“You could’ve gone in the house,” he says tiredly, waving his hand around at the porch they’re on. “I knew you were there.”

“I know you knew,” Natasha evenly replies, walking over to him. She stands at his side and looks out at the land in front of them. “Kind of rude to leave your guests unaccompanied in your house, though.”

Clint snorts and shoves her shoulder lightly. Natasha’s lips quirk up in a brief, rare smile, before they frown. “So. You didn’t want to pick up your own children from their first day of school?”

Clint exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Don’t...don’t you do that, too, Nat. I can’t take that condescending bullshit from you. You know why I can’t.”

“I do,” Natasha offers. “That’s also why you and your wife spent thousands of Tony’s dollars to go to a retreat to fix this.” She keeps her tone more even this time, simply stating a fact, rather than inflicting judgment, no matter how badly she may want to. She knows that’s not going to get him to talk to her.

Clint rests his hands on the porch railing, leaning heavily on it, as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Yeah, well. I think Stark’ll be alright.”

“It’s not about the money and you know it,” Natasha snaps. “Your wife and your kids need you. You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re there for them.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Clint demands, whirling on her. His eyes are watering and his lip is quivering, and Natasha knows this is the most vulnerable he’s let anyone seen of him in the last five years. “Laura flinches sometimes, when I drop something and curse, or if I move too fast. She tries to be subtle about it, but I see it. The kids, too. Cooper and Lila can’t even look me in the eye without staring at my tattoo first–”

“It is pretty ugly,” Natasha cuts in. “I didn’t come here to hear your excuses. I just needed to tell you to get your shit together.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You came all the way back out here just for that?”

“And to tell you I might be gone for a little,” Natasha says seriously, looking up at him to gauge his reaction.

At first, Clint looks surprised that she’d take on another mission so soon after literally returning from another dimension. But his shoulders slouch, and he gives her an approving smile.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t continue to save the world,” he comments. “You need any help?” His tone is joking, but Natasha recognizes the underlying sincerity, the hidden need to feel useful and do some good.

She wishes more than anything that she could provide that for her best friend, but his family needs him more than he needs those feelings.

“I do, but not from you,” she answers, winking. “I’ll be holding auditions this week if you have any references.”

“You could give Sam a run for his money,” Clint suggests. “Make him work for that shield.”

Natasha shakes her head. On the drive over from lunch with Coulson, she’d already been thinking about who to go to next, and Sam had been high up on her list. After all, they’d gone on the run together for two years. But that had been seven years ago, and even though he was taking Steve’s mantle now, he’d still been gone for five years. Natasha could only imagine the psychological implications of that; he wouldn’t be ready for this.

Natasha tells Clint this. “Plus,” she adds as an afterthought, “he’s probably with Barnes.”

Clint purses his lips. “Right.”

The two are silent for a moment.

“Well, I’d say ask Fury for suggestions, but last I heard, he was about to go to space for some R & R, wherever and whatever that actually means,” Clint muses. He checks his watch. “Laura should be home with the kids in less than an hour. She just left a little bit ago. You want to wait for them?”

Natasha rubs his shoulder affectionately, knowing he already knows what she’s about to say. “Give them my love. I have to get going.”

She turns and begins walking away from the house.

“Hey, you left all your shit here!” Clint calls. “If I don’t hear from you for a month I’m throwing it all out!”

“Don’t think you’d have the guts to do it,” Natasha shouts back without turning around, unable to keep the smirk off her face.

“Hey,” Clint says again. His tone makes Natasha falter in her steps and turn to face him. His expression is serious, his eyes almost pleading with her. “If this ends up going south, and you have to make the sacrifice play—” He holds up his hand when Natasha starts to protest. “Just think about the rest of us, okay? Think about me.”

She gives him a smirk. “Dumbass. I always do.”

~

Natasha rapidly types on her laptop, her eyes scanning over the multiple tabs she has open. She huffs in frustration, not being able to find what she’s looking for.

She’s about to open a new tab and start a new search when half of the screen blacks out to make room for an incoming call she’s getting from Tony.

Natasha seriously considers declining, but she knows that Tony would somehow just hack her until he got to speak with her, so she reluctantly clicks to answer the call.

“Hi, Stark,” she says dryly. “Is there—”

“What the hell are you up to?” Tony interrupts, raising an eyebrow. He holds up a hand before Natasha can answer. “Don’t give me any bullshit. Now that I have my boy back, Jarvis alerts me when there’s any potential otherworldly threats being researched, especially on one of _my_ custom computers and firewalls. You, little missy, seem to be looking into something you’re not supposed to be.”

“That’s very…Patriot Act of you,” Natasha says slowly, a bit taken aback. “And you may want to update Jarvis on what’s considered otherworldly threats. I’m trying to find Thor.”

“Th—Thor. You couldn’t have just—okay,” Tony sighs, as if Natasha is a child who can’t be yelled at because they don’t know what they were doing is wrong. “Maybe I can help. Do you just need to locate him, or—”

“I need to get in contact with him,” Natasha tells him. When Tony doesn’t respond, she adds, “The fate of our planet could depend on it. I need to see him ASAP.”

Tony adjusts whatever device he’s talking to her on, and Natasha can see behind him part of his house. “Alright. Let me look into some heat signatures and satellites I’ve got. Is this just a personal super-secret mission, or—”

“I’m not bringing you into this, Tony,” Natasha deadpans. When he begins to argue, she stares pointedly at a picture of him, Pepper, and Morgan that’s hanging on the wall behind him. He turns, sees the picture, and dejectedly sighs.

“Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll see what I can find and send you whatever I do. You still at la casa de Barton?”

“Estoy en mi propio departamento,” Natasha replies, smirking when Tony blinks to think about what she’s said. She hangs up the call and closes the multiple tabs on her computer.

A few minutes later, the screen alerts her to a new email from Tony. She opens it up. There are a few fuzzy pictures of a figure in the sky that people have sent in, but Tony added his own comments that he couldn’t be sure if it was him. The last thing in the email was some coordinates of promising locations based on energy signatures that matched Thor’s.

Natasha clicks the most recent one. She bites her lip for a moment, considering her options, before deciding she’ll sacrifice her pride and call Tony back.

“Oh, long time no see!” he greets. “W—”

“Cut the shit, Stark,” Natasha interrupts. “I need a plane.”

~

Natalia respectfully clasps her hands behind her back. If one were to look at her, they might think she was calm and collected, at ease while watching her peers play.

They would be wrong.

Inside, Natalia is itching to join the game, knowing that she can be a strong advantage for whichever team she’s placed on. She glances up at Madame B next to her again, but Madame B seems completely immersed in studying the girls play, Natalia seemingly forgotten.

Natalia turns her attention to the game again. They’re playing capture the flag today. At first some of the girls had been skeptical about this game when it had been introduced to them years ago, partly because they’d only ever seen boys play it and partly because it was thought to have originated in America, but it had quickly become one of Natalia’s favorite games. She was fast, and could help tag the other team when they crossed to her side or go get the flag herself, and smart. She saw every move that every girl made, and knew what they were going to do before they did it.

“If you were on Katya’s team,” Madame B suddenly says, “what would you do?”

Natalia faces Katya’s team. She has an answer already prepared. “Katya and Jessica are both fast already. I would let them try and go get the flag and stay back to enforce their defense, which is weak. Margaret is on the other team and is one of their fastest ones, so I’d mainly be looking out for her and Brielle, because she follows Margaret.”

Madame B nods approvingly. “What of the other girls?”

“Katya is too focused on trying to get the flag to worry about getting the rest of her team back in,” Natasha muses, watching them play. “Jessica always tries to rescue Brianna, so if she does, that will leave Katya alone, and Margaret could get her out. Yelena is out right now, but if someone gets her back in, she will be competing with Margaret to try and get the flag and their team’s approval.”

“Will either one of them capture it?”

“Probably not,” Natalia admits. “Thalia isn’t bad on defense and would see two people coming and could call for more help. I think Katya’s team will win this game.”

“I think so, too,” Madame B agrees, and Natalia’s heart flutters at the praise. She knows she’s not supposed to feel such emotion, but sometimes it’s hard not to.

“Could I assist the opposing team, then?” she asks Madame B.

Madame B shakes her head. “You already know the outcome, Natalia,” she says. “You are the fastest of all of the girls and have just proven to me you are the most perceptive. This will come in handy when making mission and battle strategies. This game is not for _fun_. It’s to work on skills necessary for future missions.”

“Of course,” Natalia quickly agrees, chastising herself for asking. “My apologies.”

Madame B takes a deep breath and watches the girls continue play. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Katya sneaks past the opposing team’s defensive players and snatches the flag off the ground, sprinting back to her team’s side where she’s greeted by cheers and hugs.

Natalia watches Margaret’s team half-heartedly congratulate Katya’s team. She flexes her arms, knowing she could have helped them if she’d played. Yelena is standing, brushing the grass off of her shorts, looking quite unhappy that no one had ran to her to get her back in.

Madame B regards Natalia. “You would have been a fine addition to the losing team and made them more competitive,” she says. “But there are some times where the place you’re needed at is not the place you want to be.”

“I just wanted to play,” Natalia tells her. “I didn’t have a preference for where I’d be.”

“Oh, you did,” Madame B counters, beginning to walk toward the rest of the girls. “You wanted to be where you could be the most helpful. You wanted to be the best. You want to be at the top.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It’s not,” Madame B assures her. “But just know, being the best often comes at a price.”

~

Natasha buries her hands deeper in the pockets of her jacket. She tries to shake the feeling that something isn’t right, but fails. Tony wouldn’t let her into a trap knowingly, but if he didn’t know...

A bus whizzes past Natasha, honking loudly. She jumps back up onto the sidewalk and shakily laughs. _Get it together, Romanoff._

“These Midgardian inventions. Ugly, but dangerous.”

Natasha slowly turns around and raises an eyebrow, resisting the urge to fight. “It sounds like you’ve had firsthand experience in that arena.”

Loki grins at her. “Well, I’ve had a little bit of time to learn.”

“A little bit,” Natasha echoes incredulously. “It’s been months since we got back. I thought you would’ve been off this planet the second Thor took his eyes off you.”

“And where would he have looked instead?” Loki asks curiously. “When I came back he canceled whatever plans he had with those moronic clodhoppers—”

“Quill’s team?” Natasha interjects.

“—and decided he would spend every possible moment with me, his long-lost and very much alive brother,” Loki finishes, his tone sarcastically happy.

“Where is he now?” Natasha asks, raising her chin. “I need to speak with him.”

Loki studies Natasha. She straightens her back under his scrutinizing gaze and looks him over. He actually looks a little tanner since she last saw him, indicating time spent in the sun, and his hair looks healthy, thick and wavy, unlike the straight, greasy mess it had been previously. Whatever Loki’s been doing, he’s been taking care of himself.

Not that Natasha is concerned about him. She just likes to keep tabs on people she’s been in alternate dimensions with.

“You seem tired,” he concludes.

“I was babysitting the Barton children for the last couple of weeks,” she replies, not missing a beat. “What can I say? Kids are tiring.”

Loki scoffs. Natasha’s about to argue with him when Thor exits the apartment building behind them, looking wildly around before focusing on Loki.

“Loki! I told you to wait while I showered!” he growls, marching over to him. He’s about to continue when he notices Natasha standing beside him. “Natasha! What a wonderful surprise!”

Thor wraps her in a bear hug, and Natasha holds her own, considering it a victory when she’s sure she won’t bruise. Thor’s lost some weight and built back muscle since she’s last seen him. Maybe she needs to be hanging out with the Asgardians more instead of eating cinnamon rolls with the Bartons.

“I hope I’m not ruining your plans for the day,” Natasha tells him. “Although I can’t imagine there’s a lot to get up to in Solvang, California.”

“Thor liked the architecture,” Loki explains, his tone indicating he didn’t care much for the town.

“It’s quaint,” Thor says, grinning. “And no, we were actually just going to go to the farmer’s market. How can we help you?”

Natasha lowers her voice even though there’s no one else on the street. “I need to talk to you about your sister. Hela?”

Thor’s sunny demeanor instantly changes. His face darkens, and his smile morphs into an angry scowl. He clenches and unclenches his fists, his breathing becoming heavy. In accordance with his mood, dark gray clouds quickly roll in, and thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Brother—” Loki says warningly, placing a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

Thor swats his hand off and glares down at Natasha, taking a step forward menacingly, invading her personal space. Natasha doesn’t let her fear show. She’s never been threatened by Thor personally before, and she knows that this is a battle she would lose.

“You dare come to this haven,” he grits out, staring into her eyes, “and bring that name here? The memories and the deaths that it carries?”

“It’s carrying more than you think,” Natasha says evenly, her head turned up to look at him. She wonders if they can hear her heart thumping loudly in her chest. “We’ve reason to believe she’s not dead, and is fucking with the world population as we speak.”

Thor frowns disbelievingly. He takes a step back and points at Natasha accusingly. “If you’re lying,” he threatens, “you will never—”

“Brother,” Loki sharply cuts in, standing between Thor and Natasha. “Let’s hear what she has to say. If she’s right…”

Thor and Loki have a wordless conversation, hundreds of years of brotherhood evident in the way their eyes speak to each other silently. Natasha patiently waits, knowing they won’t be able to resist what she has to say.

Thor eventually looks at Natasha again, a sheepish expression on his face. “My apologies, Natasha,” he says. “You can come in and we’ll eat and discuss. There’s just a lot of—”

“You don’t need to explain it to me,” Natasha assures him. “I understand.”

“Wonderful,” Thor replies. He claps his hand together and gestures toward the apartment. “So. Does IPA sound good to everyone?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony rests a hand on her wrist, forcing her to look into his eyes, wide and uncharacteristically serious.
> 
> “You’re going out of your way into something you probably don’t understand to try and save people. If anything happens…who’s going to save you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for such a long wait!! This one is a tad longer than normal, though, so I hope that makes up for it :) Enjoy!

“I’ll need to leave Midgard immediately,” Thor decides, his voice low. “Loki, call Brunnhilde. She should know about this and even might want to join. We’ll assemble a—”

“Slow down, please,” Loki interjects, an annoyed smile on his face. “I am not your servant, Thor. If you want to contact her, you can call her yourself.”

“Hold on,” Natasha says, leaning forward in her seat. “Thor, you told us Hela died when your home planet was destroyed.”

“Evidently that’s not the case, if the dead are being brought back to life,” Thor swiftly counters. Natasha bristles at his tone. He may be hundreds of years older than her, but he doesn’t need to speak to her like she has no idea what’s going on. She’s the one that brought this to his attention, after all.

“There are other ways to bring the dead back to life, though, right?” Natasha replies evenly. “Thanos used the Time Stone to undo what Wanda had done to Vision in Wakanda almost six years ago. Loki was killed in this universe, but lived in another and was transported here. It’s possible that this wasn’t Hela. I just needed to come talk to you to see what you think.”

Thor ponders this for a minute. “If a Stone were used again,” he muses, “many, not just us, would have been alerted to it. I don’t think it’s possible. As for an alternate universe…” He shakes his head. “It’s no coincidence that over a billion people who were dead are now alive. That many people missing from an alternate universe would have—” He rests his face in his hands. When he looks back up at Natasha, he seems to have aged ten years. “This is my sister. I know it.”

Loki holds up a finger, recognizing an opportunity to enter the conversation again. “Now, _I_ have never had the pleasure of meeting our dear sister whom I’ve heard so much about, but…and correct me if I’m wrong, now…didn’t she hand our asses to us? We had to destroy Asgard to defeat her.”

“I see Midgardian expressions are making their way into your vernacular,” Natasha comments.

Loki scowls at her before looking back to Thor. “Asgard has even less people now, and you aren’t even their ruler. How do you expect to defeat Hela?”

Thor blinks. “I may not hold the title of king now, but I lived with everyone under Brunnhilde for over 1500 years. They will be loyal to the one named Odinson. They will be loyal to me.”

“After you spent their first five years on this planet hiding away and drinking?” Loki asks incredulously. “It seems your brains aren’t better in this reality either, brother. If Brunnhilde doesn’t want them running toward their inevitable deaths, they won’t. You aren’t their king.”

Natasha senses the escalating and impending fight between the two. She holds up her hands.

“We don’t have to necessarily defeat Hela,” she points out. “If she did this, then logically, she can undo it too, right? We just somehow have to get her to undo it.”

“And why would she undo it if she did it in the first place?” Thor asks.

Natasha shrugs. “That’s why I’m here. You know her. I don’t.”

Thor’s strong demeanor crumples, and he leans back on the couch, staring off into the distance. “She held Mjolnir,” he says quietly, “and she _shattered_ it. Made it look like a child’s toy. Hela is not an enemy to be taken lightly.”

“I didn’t say we have to go light,” Natasha says. She smirks. “But come on, Thor. We watched half the world die and then got them back ourselves. We defeated _Thanos_. We’ve at least got a fighting chance.”

Loki scoffs at her. “You keep using the word ‘we,’” he mentions. “What makes you think you would come along on this endeavor? You’re a human.”

“Who’s outsmarted you more than once,” Natasha reminds him. She looks into his eyes seriously. “And I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”

Loki goes quiet at that. Natasha knows he’d almost forgotten that she and Tony had been injected with Sovereign alien DNA and, while they maybe weren’t quite on Asgardian level in terms of strength, they were a hell of a lot stronger than the average human.

Natasha quickly glances at Thor, but he seems oblivious to her comment. She’d told Clint about her new abilities, mainly because he would’ve figured it out sooner or later after sparring with her. But she hadn’t told anyone else yet, and had urged Tony and Loki to keep quiet about it also. She wasn’t sure how people would react to the information, and based on their track records, they’d most likely react negatively.

“If Natasha wants to come, she can,” Thor says finally. Natasha smiles to herself; it’s cute that he thinks he was the one who was going to stop her. “We would be blind to this news without her.”

“Come where, exactly?” Loki asks. “Hela could be anywhere in the galaxy.”

“We’ll have to do some recon for a little bit first,” Natasha says, working on autopilot. This is what she did for five years—organized and ordered the Avengers. She feels an odd sense of familiarity wash over her. “I’ll get Tony to see if there’s been any weird activity going on this planet. I’ll contact Rhodey, too. The military might have something but just not know what they’re looking at. I’ll ask Carol if anything like this has been happening on other planets. Thor, do you still have contact with Quill?”

Thor nods. “I’ll ask them if they’ve seen anything odd lately. We can also speak with others in space.”

“Alright,” Natasha says. She pulls out her phone, mind whirling. “Alright. Well…I’ll contact some more people. You do the same. We’ll rendezvous at the Compound in two days?”

“Sounds good,” Thor says, rubbing his hands together and grinning. “You know, we may die, but I think this is going to be fun.”

~

Natasha leans forward, panting hard, her legs aching, and her head feeling fuzzy from the high altitude and lack of oxygen. She’s been running uphill for four miles. She feels exhausted. She feels free.

Finally, _finally_, she reaches the summit point, indicated by an old, large rock with faded spray paint on it. Immediately, she rests her hands on top of her head, attempting to draw in as much oxygen as possible, and paces slowly in a circle, hopefully preventing her legs from cramping up.

“Took you awhile,” Steve comments from his perch on top of the rock. He dramatically stretches, yawns, and leisure stands up before hopping off the rock and landing in front of Natasha. “Thought you said you could beat me.”

“I had you during the first mile and a half. Don’t front,” Natasha wheezes, still out of breath. She graciously takes a long gulp of water from the bottle Steve hands to her. “If I had a super soldier serum in me, I would’ve been up here _way_ before you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Steve says, grinning.

The two of them climb onto the rock. Natasha begins stretching her legs while Steve reaches into the backpack he’d worn while running and pulls out two Ziploc bags with peanut butter and banana sandwiches in them. He tosses one in front of Natasha and begins chewing on his own sandwich.

“How long you think until Sam joins us?” Natasha asks, her breathing back to normal. She takes a bite of her sandwich. “God, who made this?”

“Sam did this morning,” Steve answers.

“Way too much banana and not enough peanut butter,” Natasha criticizes. “He should’ve just gone for the classic PB&J. That’s my personal favorite. I always make them for Cooper and Li—” She abruptly pauses, clearing her throat.

Steve gives her a sympathetic smile. “How long’s it been since you saw them?”

“Almost seven months now,” Natasha whispers. She shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve been on video calls with them, but it’s not the same. Clint wanted to meet somewhere with me so I could see them, but he’s on house arrest, and I don’t want to risk anything.”

“If anyone could sneak by Ross for a day, it’s you two,” Steve points out.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Rogers,” Natasha retorts, smirking at him jokingly. “If it was just us we would’ve already seen each other. But the kids wouldn’t know what to do if something went south.” She stares off into the distance, reminding herself to relax and enjoy the view. She’d damn near killed her legs just to see it. “I think we’ll be good to take on some of the chatter that’s been going on in the States soon, though. It’ll be my first time in the States in six months.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s crazy it’s been that long already.”

Natasha hums in agreement. When she, Steve, and Sam had decided to go on the run together after the fight in Germany, she’d thought she was prepared. She’d been on the run countless times before, and now she had _two_ people to keep her company. But it was proving to be harder than she thought. The last time she’d gone off the grid when she’d been wanted, the whole world hadn’t been able to Google her photo. There also hadn’t been three Barton children to miss while she was away.

Uneven footsteps alert Natasha and Steve to Sam’s presence. He half-jogs, half-limps over to the rock they’re sitting on and leans up against it, panting hard.

“I,” he says in between breaths, “hate. Both. Of you.”

Natasha and Steve both grin at his misfortune.

“You never even took the lead, Sam,” Steve chastises, tossing him a water bottle. “What happened to the infamous Thunder Thighs?”

“That’s,” Sam pants, “only for. Special. Occasions. You guys. Aren’t special. I’m thinking of.” He coughs for a moment, pauses to chug half the water bottle, and then glares at them. “Thinking of turning you both in. To the government. Right now.”

Natasha laughs. She spreads her arms, gesturing to the expanse of mountains around them, their beautiful view, the closest town thousands of meters away from them.

“Let them come,” she says. “They’d never find us here.”

Steve chuckles in agreement, staring at the view in appreciation.

“Oh, I’d _make_ sure they found your asses,” Sam counters. He climbs onto the rock and sits in between them, making dramatic grunts and groans as he does. “I thought running away from the government would save my life. I think you two _want_ me dead.”

“Damn, Steve, our plan is foiled,” Natasha sighs sarcastically.

Steve shakes his head dejectedly. “Now we can never steal Redwing.”

“Hey, hey, not funny!” Sam calls, pointing at both of them. “I’m sleeping with one eye open tonight. Y’all aren’t getting anything past me.”

Natasha grins at both of them. It’s moments like this one that make giving up her life worth it – a reminder that, despite the shitty outcome of the Sokovia Accords, happiness is still possible.

“Christmas and New Year’s are coming up,” Steve suddenly mentions. “I know we’re planning on going back to the US soon to look into some bunkers there, but…are we staying for the holidays?”

Natasha’s voice is tight when she answers. “You know we can’t, Steve. It’s too dangerous.”

“We can just be extra cautious,” Sam suggests. “I know my aunties would love to see me just for a couple hours. They think I’m deployed right now.”

“And you want to put their lives at risk for some eggnog and hanging ornaments?” Natasha asks scathingly. She shakes her head. “No. We need to be out of the US at least a week before Christmas.”

Steve and Sam are silent, but Natasha knows they think she’s right. She would love to go to the Barton farm for the holidays; she wants to so badly she can feel it in her bones. But she’s not that selfish. She wouldn’t put it past Ross to send in a platoon in the middle of Christmas dinner.

“Well, we can pick our own destination for the holidays, then,” Steve says, attempting to lighten the mood. “We could go anywhere.”

Sam smirks at him. “Man, you’re just optimistic because all your buddies are a hundred years old and can’t do anything fun for Christmas.”

Steve laughs. “You’re not wrong.” Then his expression sobers. “But you guys know I’d pick you, right?”

“What are you on, Rogers?” Natasha teases. “Is the lack of oxygen making you loopy?” She knows Sam is confused, but she’s only putting on an act. She knows what Steve is trying to say. She just isn’t prepared for anyone to get sentimental right now.

Steve lightly kicks her foot. “Shut up. I’m serious.” He gazes into both of their eyes. “If you ever need someone…and you’re not even sure if I can help…I’ll be there for you. Without question.”

Sam clasps Steve’s shoulder appreciatively, and it makes Natasha’s chest hurt for reasons she can’t explain. “Captain America on speed dial,” he muses. “If only Riley could see me now.”

~

Natasha hasn’t been afraid of many people in her life. There are only a handful of individuals that have truly made her feel uncomfortable, who could get her backed into a corner if they wanted her there.

Virginia “Pepper” Potts Stark was one of them. Even her _name_ was intimidating.

The fact that Pepper can wield a fourteen-inch meat cleaver in her one hand and a glass of wine in the other while reciting phonics just adds to Natasha’s discomfort.

She’s standing in the Stark kitchen, leaning against the island, wishing she were anywhere else.

“Okay, and if you change the first letter of ‘hat,’ can you make a different word for me?” Pepper asks her daughter sweetly, who’s dutifully setting the kitchen table, laying out napkins and silverware.

“Um…bat!” Morgan enthusiastically says after a beat. She tucks her hair behind her ear and beams at Natasha, who manages to give her a smile. “Ms. Natasha, can you do one?”

Natasha takes this opportunity to walk over to Morgan and sit across from her at the table. Her legs are killing her after a quick workout she’d completed with Thor, but Pepper hadn’t offered her a seat, so she hadn’t dared to take one.

“Bat’s a pretty hard one to top,” Natasha says thoughtfully, looking up to the ceiling. “Let me think…oh, I’ve got one. How about pat?”

Morgan excitedly gasps and clasps her hands together. “Mommy, did you hear that?”

Pepper slams the cleaver down onto the cutting board in front of her, slicing through the innocent chicken breast placed on it. Her voice is sickly sweet. “I did, sweetie. It was very good. I think before we eat dinner though you should probably go wash up and put away your toys, okay? No dessert if your room is messy.”

Morgan gives Natasha a shy wave before sprinting up the stairs.

Pepper waits until her daughter is out of earshot before walking over to the kitchen table and sitting across from Natasha. She still has the meat cleaver in her hand.

“Nat, I am forever grateful for what you’ve done for me and Morgan,” she says lowly, looking at Natasha from under her blonde lashes. “I really am. I know it couldn’t have been easy out there, and Tony probably wouldn’t have been your first choice for a companion.”

Natasha raises the left side of her lips into a smirk. “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ after that.”

“There is,” Pepper sighs. “But…I can’t have you over here all the time asking him to help you. He’ll never admit it, and I don’t even know if he realizes it, but he feels compelled to say yes to you every time you ask for something because he thinks he would have died without you.”

Natasha resists the urge to tell Pepper that her husband _would_ have died without her.

“I understand,” Natasha says evenly, not betraying any emotion. She likes Pepper, she does; it takes an admirable human being to have been able to put up with Tony for as long as she has, along with Pepper’s impeccable sense of business and marketing. But she doesn’t like what Pepper’s requesting, and she’s certainly not going to act like she does. “Would you like me to leave?”

Pepper purses her lips before leaning back in her chair in thought. “No, no. I’m coming off as a bitch. I’m sorry. I’m just worried that every little thing he does is just one step closer to him remembering how much he misses avenging, and I’m worried he’s going to…” She trails off, eyes watering.

“Pepper, Tony loves you,” Natasha assures her, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t ever doubt that. He’ll choose you over avenging. Any day.” The words sound hollow even to her. She wishes it were Laura in front of her instead of Pepper, and they were talking about Clint instead of Tony. That would be so much easier. She wouldn’t have to lie, at least.

Pepper laughs cynically. “Yeah. I’m sure he would. I—” She’s silenced by the man in question entering the room from the back door, bags of groceries balanced in his arms.

“Romanoff! What a lovely surprise,” Tony greets cheerily, setting the bags on the kitchen table. He walks over to Pepper to peck her on the lips before leaning over to give Natasha a side hug. “You came for dinner? Pep makes a mean chicken valdostano.”

“That sounds lovely, but unfortunately, I can’t,” Natasha apologizes. “I actually came here to ask you—” She purposefully glances at Pepper, who at least has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, “—if you had Rhodey’s current location. My phone was dead, and I didn’t want to risk using any payphones.”

Tony looks disappointed for a brief second before plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I always know where he is, although if he asks, I don’t. Come on into my study.”

Natasha follows Tony through the house until they reach his state-of-the-art computer, surrounded by holograms and 3D renderings of different elements.

“Been working on some orgo when I’m bored,” Tony explains, waving his hand at it all. “The chemistry professors at Cal Tech send me some of their students’ work to look over sometimes to see if I want to recommend any of them for grad school.”

“Helping the next generation,” Natasha quips.

“It’s what we do,” Tony agrees quietly.

The two of them stand in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Natasha gestures to the screens. “So. Rhodey?”

“Right! Right,” Tony exclaims, jogging over to the computer. Of course the keyboard is simply built-in to the table so that he can slide around the touch-screen as he likes. He pulls up some coordinates and orders Jarvis to print them out.

Tony suddenly exhales hard, sitting down in the desk chair. Natasha studies him silently, remembering a time when it was seemingly just the two of them against the world, with a thirty-six hour time limit to bring in some of the world’s best fighters.

_You alright?_

_Always_.

Natasha graciously accepts the papers when Tony hands them to her. She quickly memorizes the coordinates, cursing to herself that she has to go to the Midwest, and gives Tony a slight smile.

“I appreciate it. I’ll see you around, Tony,” she says, leaning down to kiss his cheek in a rare display of emotion. “Stay out of trouble. The world can’t lose you twice.”

“I can help,” Tony blurts quietly, glancing at the entryway to his study to make sure Pepper can’t hear. “Nat, you know I can help. We’ve got goddamn _alien_ DNA coursing through us, and you want me to waste it and—”

“Yes,” Natasha interrupts sharply, her eyes flashing dangerously. She furrows her eyebrows. “You got your second chance, Tony. Don’t play with fate and ask for a third.”

_I can’t roll the dice again._

Tony looks like he’s about to contemplate arguing, but then Morgan’s voice is heard, announcing that she’s finished cleaning her bedroom, and his expression softens. Natasha gestures toward the kitchen, where his wife and daughter are waiting for him.

“You’re not putting them through that again,” Natasha decides firmly. “We’ll handle this. We’ll figure it out.” The words sound cliché even to her, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to have to do her job with Pepper to answer to if things go south.

“We,” Tony muses, running his hand over his face. “You don’t even know if Rhodey will say yes. Even if he does, I doubt the military’s going to let him go run on a little field trip with Thor and…whoever else you’re bringing in to do…whatever it is that you’re doing. I’m just saying, think about it.”

“Think about what?” Natasha asks, chuckling as she pulls her car keys out of her pocket.

Tony rests a hand on her wrist, forcing her to look into his eyes, wide and uncharacteristically serious.

“You’re going out of your way into something you probably don’t understand to try and save people. If anything happens…who’s going to save you?”

~

“You know, when they told me I had a visitor, I was expecting my mom,” Rhodey teases, making Natasha look up from the floor tiles she’d been staring at.

She breaks out into a genuine grin, standing to pull him into a hug. It isn’t lost on her that, had she not come back after Vormir, Rhodey would have been the last one she’d ever hugged.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she says jokingly.

“No, no, this is better. Mom’s been up my ass about living out here. Says I’m not meant to be a country man,” he chuckles. He places his hands on his hips, looking at her expectantly. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Natasha, but what are you doing here? This place isn’t exactly on Google maps.”

“Got your location from Tony,” Natasha explains. She looks around. They’re in a basic, brick government-looking building, but she knows that her face will be recognized here, and she doesn’t know if she can trust anyone. “Do you have some place we can talk?”

Rhodey nods silently. He leads her down a side hallway, taking caution to check to see if it’s clear before making every turn, and eventually they reach a basement. He enters a code in front of a metal door and quickly pulls her in.

He pointedly looks into Natasha’s eyes before glancing up at the right side of the ceiling, raising his eyebrows. Natasha nods, understanding. She pulls a baseball cap out of her back pocket and tucks her hair into it, moving to stand on Rhodey’s left side, hiding her face and hair from the view of the cameras.

The two of them quietly venture further into the basement before reaching another door with a code. Rhodey punches in the code quickly, and Natasha hates that her instincts make her do it, but she catches the code, storing it in her mind. She trusts Rhodey; she doesn’t need the code. But sometimes Madame B’s lessons just stick with her, no matter how hard she tries to flush them out.

The room behind the door is a modest office, sleekly decorated and looks like it would fare better in a Manhattan sky rise as opposed to a brick building in Iowa.

“Nice place,” Natasha compliments, running her fingers along the expensive-looking leather seat placed in front of the desk. She lowers herself into it.

Rhodey scoffs in thanks and sits across from her behind his desk. “Ross’s way of apologizing without saying he’s sorry. Of course, not on the main floor, because that would be _too_ nice.” He folds his hands together. “So. What can I do for you?”

“Has the government noticed anything strange since the blip?” Natasha queries. “In terms of…let’s say, population?”

Rhodey exhales, leaning back in his seat. “A little bit. A _lot_ actually, yeah. What do you know about it?”

“I don’t think it’s anything the government can stop,” Natasha replies vaguely. She contemplates whether she should disclose to Rhodey everything she knows, or if he’d be better off being kept in the dark. “Do you want to know?”

Rhodey stares at his desk, obviously thinking hard. After a couple of minutes, he shakes his head, looking angry.

“Shit. I do, but I shouldn’t. The less I know the better, probably, if you don’t want Ross and the higher-ups knowing what you’re doing,” Rhodey admits. Natasha smiles to herself; Rhodey’s definitely one of the good ones. “I’ll cover for you if I can, though. Do you need anything?”

“Some backup,” Natasha answers truthfully. “Can you think of anyone that wouldn’t mind being thrust into a potentially supernatural threat? I told Clint and Tony no, already.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me—” Rhodey begins shuffling through some of the papers on his desk when the phone on his desk rings. He sighs, holding up a finger to Natasha. “Rhodes, what can I do for you?” After a pause, he curses. “Damn. Alright. I’ll be there ASAP.” He slams down the phone and rapidly scribbles an address on a post-it note, pointing to it.

“Go there,” he tells Natasha. “I’ve got to run. You think you can sneak out of here by yourself?”

Natasha stuffs the note into her pocket and gives him a falsely offended gasp. “I hate that you have to ask, Rhodes.”

He flips her off with a smile before entering the code on the wall and then jogs out of the office, the door shutting and locking behind him.

Well, maybe it was a good thing Natasha watched him enter the code.

~

Natasha stands outside the address Rhodey had provided for her, contemplating if she should knock politely, or just go in; if this person can help her in the way Rhodey can, she figures they already know she’s there anyway.

Against her better judgement, she knocks and waits, letting whoever’s in this house get the upper hand. They can see her as they walk to the front door; she can’t see anything through the tinted front windows. God, who has tinted front windows?

Sam Wilson, apparently.

“Natasha? The hell are you doing here, girl?” Sam greets happily, pushing open the front door and opening his arms wide.

Not wanting to make it obvious that she’s caught off guard, Natasha simply smiles back at him and wraps him in a hug. When his chin is resting on her shoulder and he can’t see her face, Natasha furrows her eyebrows in thought. Rhodey thought _Sam_ was going to help her? Natasha loves Sam, she does, but she doesn’t want to put anyone else she knows in danger.

Plus, Steve would totally kill her, elderly or not.

“Rhodey gave me this address,” Natasha explains when they pull apart. She looks around at the porch, cutely decorated as if an elderly couple resides inside. “I didn’t know it was you. Last time we talked you were still in DC.”

“That was three months ago,” Sam says, and Natasha would be lying if she said she didn’t feel slightly guilty about it being so long. “Hey, hey, I get it. Busy woman, back from the dead on her own, too good for those of us that died and got brought back by someone else.”

Natasha laughs along with him and punches his shoulder. Sam nods toward the front door, and the two of them walk inside.

It’s a small, modest house. Natasha can see two bedroom doors up the stairs from the foyer, and the living room is right next to the staircase. There’s a worn leather sofa and a dark green loveseat placed in front of a small television with a record player on a table in the corner. Sam leads her past that into a kitchen behind the staircase. There’s a small dinner table with three mismatched chairs in the center of the room, surrounded by white cabinets and countertops.

“Nice place,” Natasha comments. “Who’re your roommates?”

She already has an idea of who Sam has been living with, but she needs to hear him say it, to solidify her thoughts, to prepare for seeing him.

“Barnes,” Sam answers, oblivious to the storm of emotions inside Natasha. “You know, I hated the guy, but I guess when Captain America gives you his shield, you’re sort of obligated to take his best friend under your wing, too.” He smirks at his pun, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Is he home?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “BARNES! We got a visitor!”

Natasha gives Sam a smile to mask the nervous anticipation she feels. She knows Barnes doesn’t remember her, doesn’t remember being Natalia and Zima and dreams of running away together, but _she_ does. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever forget it.

The man himself walks into the room a minute later, his footsteps silent, just like their trainers taught them in Russia. He isn’t wearing his metal arm, and there’s a scarf wrapped around his shoulder.

“Ms. Romanoff,” he says, friendly enough, but Natasha knows she was never his favorite person, not after she fought on Tony’s side over the Accords. “How are you?”

“Apparently not as well as you two,” Natasha answers, smiling slightly, gesturing to the kitchen. “This is cute. Very homey.” She specifically points at a framed picture of the elderly Steve, Sam, and Barnes, all grinning at the camera, sitting on a park bench.

Barnes actually _blushes_. “Ah, wasn’t our idea. That was all Stevie.”

Sam sits in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, and Natasha and Barnes follow suit.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard anything,” Natasha begins, folding her hands together, “but there was a surge in population after the blip. An unexpected surge – more people came back then the number of people who disappeared.”

Sam and Barnes share a look before turning back to Natasha. If she weren’t about to offer them roles to help in a supernatural mission where death was highly probable, she might joke that they are like an old married couple who can communicate without speaking.

“Who are the people?” Barnes asks.

“People who died,” Natasha answers. “Well, people who died _before_ the snap in the first place. I talked to Thor already. We have reason to believe his sister, Hela, could be involved. She’s the goddess of death and apparently has reign over this type of thing.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and exhales. “Talk about family issues.” He shakes his head. “What do you need us to do?”

“I don’t _need_ you to do anything,” Natasha corrects him, tilting her head. “I’m _offering_ you a job just to help out. It’s going to be dangerous. I’m not even sure what the hell we’re going to be doing, exactly. I already told Tony and Clint they’re not allowed to come.”

Bucky stares the table thoughtfully. Silently.

“I’m in,” Sam says firmly, nodding, as if convincing himself that he actually wants to do this. “Captain America would go in and try and figure this out. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Steve gave you that shield to be _your_ version of Captain America,” Natasha reminds him, not wanting him to feel obligated to help. “You can still be Captain America and not deal with monsters and aliens and gods, you know.”

“I know,” Sam answers, smiling at her. “But this is the right thing to do. I know it is.”

Bucky clears his throat, and Natasha turns to him to hear what he has to say.

“There’s a chance I could’ve killed some of those people,” he points out finally. “What if, by chance, one of my targets was one of the people to come back to life? They deserve a chance to live the life I took from them.”

“Most of your targets weren’t good people,” Natasha counters.

“And how would you know, Ms. Romanoff?”

Natasha’s eyes snap up to meet his. For a moment, she’s eighteen again, rolling around in the snow, willing to believe everything that Zima tells her.

She blinks, and the moment fades. She’s not Natalia Romanova anymore, and he’s not the nameless Winter Soldier; they are Natasha Romanoff and James Barnes, and they don’t know each other like that.

“Just a guess, from a former assassin,” she says dryly.

“Come on, man. We’ve been talking about doing good. We don’t need Hela and the Fates or whoever the hell is out there messing with Earth even more,” Sam says encouragingly.

Barnes grimaces at him before sliding his chair back and quietly exiting the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” Sam sighs. “I mean, if you need me, count me in. I’ll be there. I’ll do my best.”

Natasha grips his shoulder in silent thanks. She glances up at the ceiling. “This isn’t gonna cause any roommate conflicts? I’d hate to break up the happy couple.”

“Screw you, Romanoff,” Sam laughs, removing her hand from his shoulder. He shrugs them. “Man, I can’t force him to do something he don’t want to. That’s all his whole life has ever been. I’m sure he’ll change his mind, though, when he sees how much fun I’m having training with gods. That’s something I bet he’s never seen before.”

Natasha smirks. “I might give it a go. He already doesn’t like me, so what’s the harm?” Without waiting for a response, she walks toward the staircase and begins ascending them, not bothering to try and be quiet. She peeks in the bedroom on the left, which appears to be Sam’s bedroom, of course, and then knocks twice on the bedroom on the right.

There’s no answer.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You know I can kick down this door if I wanted to. It’s in your best interest to just let me in.”

A moment later, the door opens slightly. Natasha pushes it open to let herself in and closes it behind her, taking in the room.

She thought _she_ kept her room bare. It’s what she’d been taught; a bedroom was exactly that, a place for sleeping and resting. Pictures of friends on the wall meant making them a liability, and paintings and tapestries and décor gave away facets of your personality. It was dangerous. It was dumb.

Still, Natasha’s current apartment had a few plants placed on the windowsills and side tables, and she kept a single photo of the Barton children on her refrigerator. Her furniture was all color coordinated and she kept low-lit amber lights on the walls to give her place a more comfortable vibe.

Barnes’ bedroom makes a hospital room look inviting.

The lights are fluorescent and bright, not flattering to anyone or anything, and they accentuate the plain white, bare walls. His bed is a twin-sized mattress perched upon a standard black metal frame, with a dull gray blanket neatly tucked over it. He has two wooden dressers pushed up against the wall in the corner, matching the style of the wooden desk next to his bed, which holds only his vibraniam metal arm and a lamp. Some sunlight spills through the blinds over the window.

“Jesus, no wonder you’re so moody,” Natasha quips, walking around. “This place is depressing.”

“I’m not an interior designer,” Barnes retorts, sounding somewhat offended.

“No, but would it kill you to add a few posters on the wall? Get some colored bedsheets? And you’re a grown man now. That twin is seriously comfortable to sleep on?”

“Now?” Barnes questions, sitting on his bed.

Natasha bites her tongue. “I mean, I’m sure this isn’t different compared to the type of room you had in the army, when you and Steve were kids.”

Barnes shrugs. “I guess. Just feels wrong, decorating a bedroom and having a…normal life, when I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“Don’t say that,” Natasha chastises, knowing exactly how he feels.

A third voice joins in. “No, he’s right. He’s not supposed to be here.”

In less than a second, Barnes has rolled backwards on his bed, placing the vibraniam arm on himself, and is standing with his legs crouched, ready to attack the intruder. Natasha has her gun out and kneels beside the desk, ready to also use the chair as a weapon if she needs to. Their backs are slightly facing each other so that they can both cover themselves and the other person, and Natasha wonders if he remembers doing this together, back when they were still young.

The intruder raises his hands innocently, looking amused.

“Stephen Strange,” Natasha says evenly, not lowering her weapon. She’s never a one-on-one conversation with the man, but she’s heard things. Mainly from Tony, so who knows how credible he was being, but Natasha figures if even _Tony Stark_ says someone is narcissistic... “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Dr. Stephen Strange, actually,” the man corrects casually. He flicks his wrist, and Natasha’s gun floats out of her reach through the air until it’s securely in his own grip. “Nice gun. Was this supposed to harm me?”

“If I wanted to, you’d be dead already,” Natasha replies sweetly. He may be able to shift reality, or whatever the hell it is he does, but she’s willing to bet he doesn’t have half the resilience that she does. Or alien DNA. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I can help you with your mission,” Dr. Strange says bluntly. “I need you to come with me, Ms. Romanoff.”

“She isn’t going anywhere with you, Doc,” Barnes says, finally speaking. He relaxes his legs, but Natasha knows that his true power is in his arm.

Dr. Strange shrugs. “Fine, then. You’ll both come.” He waves his hands, and orange sparks begin flying around. Natasha had heard from Loki what the sorcerer can do.

She quickly turns to the window, prepared to jump out of it, but suddenly the floor beneath them disappears, and she and Barnes are falling through a portal, into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a super exciting chapter in my opinion, but we're just getting started. I'm not sure the next time I'll get to update because of work and midterms coming up, but my ultimate goal is to finish this before April so that the Black Widow movie doesn't render everything that's happened in my stories completely impossible haha. Thanks for reading!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You recognize any of these folks?” Barnes whispers, glancing around the room with a relaxed expression on his face, his mouth barely moving to indicate he’s saying anything to her.
> 
> Natasha nonchalantly glances around at the new arrivals. They all appear human, but she knows how guileless that line of thinking is. Regardless, though, none of them appear familiar to her.
> 
> “No,” Natasha whispers back, her lips not moving, so that anyone looking at her wouldn’t know she was talking to him. “Stay cautious, though.”
> 
> “You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait!!! Hope you enjoy!

Even though she can’t see anything as she’s falling, Natasha’s perception has been refined enough that she can tell when she’s about to land. A split second before her body would slam into the ground, she bends her legs and tucks her neck, gracefully somersaulting on the floor and launching upright into a standing position.

Barnes does the same. Natasha wonders if he learned that in Russia or the States.

Dr. Strange even has the audacity to look slightly impressed, as if he hadn’t expected either of them to stick the landing.

Natasha looks around. They’re in some sort of older-looking library or museum, with sleek wood and gold furniture and foreign-looking motifs scattered around the room.

“Welcome,” Dr. Strange says, “to the Sanctum Santorum.”

“What is this, some sort of…magical library?” Barnes questions.

“It’s the location of the most occult esoterica and mystical phenomena that’s been discovered,” Dr. Strange says, not really answering the question, in Natasha’s opinion. “It’s also a brownstone located at 177A Bleecker Street.”

“In the Village?” Barnes questions, raising his eyebrows. He whistles. “I’d hate to see what your rent is.”

Natasha’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile. You can take the man out of New York – and God knows they took this one _far_ – but you can’t take the New York out of the man.

“Why are we here?” Natasha demands, not forgetting that they’d just been transported away to New York, hundreds of miles away from Barnes’ and Sam’s house. “You didn’t have to—”

“Oh, he didn’t, but he does like to show off,” an unamused voice drawls.

Natasha turns to look at the stairs, where Loki is descending, followed by Thor, who looks rather unhappy about being there. His expression lights up when he catches sight of Natasha, though, and he quickly pushes past his brother to greet her.

“Natasha! How nice to see a familiar, _friendly_ face,” Thor rumbles, pointedly looking at Loki. “What brings you here?”

“I’m not really sure,” Natasha muses, raising an eyebrow at Dr. Strange. “Why _did_ you have to transport us all the way here?”

Dr. Strange’s somewhat friendly expression disappears and is replaced by a look of pure dread. “You aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed the…population issue on this planet,” he says gravely. “We have a lot to discuss. Have a seat.”

“There aren’t any—” Barnes starts, just as Dr. Strange waves his hands and suddenly four elegant, velvet single sofas appear in a row, out of thin air.

Natasha shrugs her shoulders at him and sits. The other men follow suit and all look at Dr. Strange expectedly.

“I’ve invited a few others who I think can assist in this issue,” he vaguely provides. “I have to go contact them and ensure their arrivals are soon. Time is of the essence.”

“Because you no longer possess the Time Stone,” Thor adds.

Natasha has known him long enough to recognize the statement is said in jest, but Dr. Strange obviously doesn’t. The sorcerer immediately lashes his hand out at Thor, and the red cloak flies off his back and onto Thor’s neck, wrapping tightly around it. Thor’s face turns concerning shades of red and then blue as he claws at the fabric, attempting to loosen it.

Natasha glances at Barnes. She could outwit Dr. Strange in any topics non-time or surgery-related, and she’s willing to bet before he mastered the mystical arts, she could’ve taken him in hand-to-hand combat. But she knows when to back down from a fight; she’s had enough of meddling with magic.

Still, there’s someone among them who _could_ be a match for Dr. Strange’s powers.

She raises an eyebrow at Loki. “You’re not going to help your brother?”

Loki opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Barnes has stepped forward toward Strange and punched him in the face with his metal arm. Hard.

The force of the blow knocks Dr. Strange back a few feet as he stumbles, and the cloak loosens from Thor’s neck, giving him an opening to wriggle free from it. Natasha’s heard pounds hard in her chest; the next few seconds could be either very peaceful or chaotic.

Looking at the men around her, she figures it’s up to her to ensure the peace.

“Alright, step back, Barnes,” she says, her tone authoritative, but not too demanding. “You got Thor free. Good job.”

His fingers twitch, as if he’s contemplating landing another one on Strange, but he stares into her eyes and finally nods.

“He got me free, no thanks to my brother,” Thor spits, his voice slightly hoarse. His neck is an ugly shade of red, but Natasha knows that the godly blood in him will have it back to normal in a matter of hours. He turns to Loki menacingly. “I take you in, after what you did to this planet and its people, and you make no attempt to fight for me? Do they have no loyalty in your dimension, brother?”

“No one’s fighting,” Natasha cuts in warningly, crossing her arms. Thor glares at her for a second, but she matches the look with her own scathing scowl that makes him falter. “All that matters is that you’re good now. We’re good. Right?” She looks around for approval.

Dr. Strange waves his hand and the cloak floats back onto his back. He stares at Thor with an unreadable expression. “We’re good,” he says simply. “I would appreciate if you didn’t make jokes about the Infinity Stones again. You don’t know what kind of power words can hold.”

“What’s that mean?” Barnes asks.

Dr. Strange raises an eyebrow at him, and to Natasha’s surprise, Barnes ducks his head, looking embarrassed. Unless she’s missing something, to her knowledge, the two men haven’t been acquainted before. Except…

Except for after the snap.

Natasha had always assumed that there hadn’t been anything for those who had died in the snap. From what she’d gathered from Sam and Laura and the kids, it was an immediately loss of feeling, like after you’ve had too much to drink and can’t feel your face, but they hadn’t remembered much after that. But maybe the experience was different for enhanced individuals…

A loud knocking noise interrupts her thoughts.

Dr. Strange straightens up. “I wasn’t going to kill you,” he tells Thor amicably. “I was just going to cut off your air supply until you fell unconscious. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see who that is. Feel free to rest here for a bit.”

As he talks off, Thor mutters, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Come. I have a healing ointment that will get rid of those hideous marks on your neck. It’s best not to let the guests know the mighty Thor can get taken down by a piece of clothing.”

The two of them walk back up the stairs, leaving Natasha and Barnes alone.

“What was that look Strange gave you?” she asks him, sitting down in one of the sofas. “Shut you up pretty quickly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, doll,” Barnes says tiredly, a distant, distracted look in his eyes. Natasha furrows her brows at the nickname, and Barnes seems to notice what he’d just said, because his eyes widen as his gaze snaps back to her. “Shit. Sorry, Ms. Romanoff. Kind of out of it right now. I guess getting transported to a magical library has got me out of my head.”

“Steve mentioned to me awhile back you were on some meds from Wakanda,” Natasha replies easily, knowing that he meant something different. “Are you off them?”

Barnes gives her a grateful look, knowing she’s purposefully avoiding the conversation about him and Strange. “I take a pill every other day. Weaning off them, you know. I don’t want to bother them too much, especially now, you know. They have a lot of rebuilding to do.”

Natasha shrugs. “We all do.”

Barnes takes a deep breath. “I’m going to take a walk around this place, get a feel for it. I don’t like how fast this all is moving.”

“Neither do I,” Natasha admits. “But I trust Thor. And Loki, to a degree. I don’t trust Strange—”

“No, no, he’s good,” Barnes assures her. Then he backtracks. “I mean, I think so. He helped save this reality, right? That’s good enough for me.” He studies her. “You look tired. Get some shuteye. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

Natasha doesn’t argue with him on that. She doesn’t particularly like the circumstances she’s in, but she’s certainly slept in worse, so she closes her eyes and lets herself drift off.

~

Natalia’s biggest secret is—

“Get up,” Madame B commands, so sharp, so apathetic, that Natalia can no longer focus on anything except her order. “Up, Natalia. Now.”

Natalia blinks and struggles to sit up, chest heaving. She shakily manages to stand on her two feet, blood dripping out of her nose and onto her lips. It tastes like metal.

It tastes like worthiness.

She’s just finished sparring all the girls left in her class. There’s only ten of them now. Natalia is firmly number one, but both Yelena and Katya have been improving. It worries Natasha slightly sometimes. Her biggest secret is—

“Give the girl a break, yes? She just defeated nine of her comrades,” the man behind Madame B chides. He had arrived three days prior and had spent every waking moment of each day watching the girls. They didn’t know who he was, but they did know not to ask.

Madame B gives him a tight smile, and if Natalia knew any better, she would say Madame B almost looks embarrassed. “Yes. Quick break, Natalia. Five minutes.” She turns on her heel and beckons to the rest of the girls to follow her. They wordlessly follow, Katya bending down to let Margaret lean on her; Natalia had sprained Margaret’s knee when sparring.

Left alone with the man in the training room, Natalia reaches over to grab her water bottle and greedily chugs half of it. She bends over to stretch her legs, her breathing slowing back to normal.

She doesn’t look at the man. She isn’t sure why he’s here or what he wants.

Natalia’s biggest secret is—

“You turn fifteen soon, is that right?” the man asks suddenly, leaning against the wall. He seems to be in his forties, with a slightly receding hairline and a stomach that had clearly consumed its fair amount of alcohol. He has an America accent, and Natalia decides to test him.

“Da,” she says. “Moy den’ rozhdeniya 23 fevralya.” _My birthday is February 23._

The man chuckles humorlessly, not phased by her switch in language. He steadfastly remains in English. “They made your birthday Defender of the Fatherland Day?”

Natalia smiles slightly, aware of the irony. She switches back to English to humor the man. “Yelena got Women’s day,” she says, shrugging, stretching her arms. “And Katya got New Year’s. Those were the two I preferred. The rest didn’t matter to me.”

“When did you pick your birthdays?” the man asks, sounding genuinely curious. “And when did you celebrate them before you picked?”

Natalia regards him warily. She isn’t sure if he’s testing her on behalf of Madame B to see how much she’ll reveal about the Red Room, or if he truly doesn’t know all the Red Room practices and wants to. Either way, Natalia doesn’t want to disclose much information to him.

“We were little,” she answers vaguely. “You’ll have to ask Madame B for more details.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Why do you care?” Natalia asks, genuinely curious. “Why are you questioning me?”

“I’m from America,” the man starts.

“I can hear, yes. Your accent is so heavy,” Natalia remarks.

“We’re thinking of...kickstarting a program similar to this. My boss is old friends with Madame B. He sent me to inspect it, see what I think. Get some feedback.”

Natalia ponders this. Another Red Room? She isn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it means potentially more comrades and sisters, in another country no less, which could prove to be useful.

On the other hand, it means more competition for her. She needs to be the best.

Natalia’s biggest secret is—

“What feedback are you getting right now in watching me stretch?” Natalia asks.

“I wanted your opinion, actually. Just talking,” the man says, sounding surprisingly friendly for someone who wants to start a female youth assassin training program. “Do you like it here?”

“I am loyal to the Red Room,” Natalia answers without thinking, years of practice ingrained in her.

“Oh, I know. I’m not trying to disrupt your system or anything with Madame B here,” the man explains. “But, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you like it here?”

“Ten,” Natalia replies shortly.

“Really? You wouldn’t change anything? At all?”

“I would make it so that we are not allowed visitors,” Natalia counters, false sweetness in her voice. She takes another gulp of water. “I am fourteen years old and could kill you in less than two minutes. I am not bragging, I am stating a fact. If that’s what you want your program to lead to, then tell your boss to go ahead.”

She begins walking toward the door to leave. Before she can reach it, the man has her exit blocked, having moved much faster than she originally gave him credit for. Even faster, he has his left hand wrapped around her throat, his right hand holding a blade against her stomach.

“That’s something we would definitely change with our program. The bitches would not be so arrogant, so disrespectful,” he whispers, pressing the blade into her stomach; not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her wince.

Natalia’s biggest secret is—

“This does not scare me,” she whispers back, smirking. She reaches up to jab the man’s own throat, loosening his grip, and twists around to kick his legs out from underneath him.

As he falls, Natalia wrenches the knife out of his grip and plunges it into his thigh, missing any major arteries, but sticking it where it will hurt. The man grunts in pain and reaches forward to grab her, but she easily sidesteps him and wraps one leg around his throat, squatting behind him with her other.

“If you ever try that on me or any of my sisters,” she sings sweetly, brushing his hair out of his now sweaty face, “I will make you beg for the sweet release of death. Understand, yes?”

The man spits in her face but says nothing, grounded to his position by the knife in his leg. Natalia simply wipes the spit off of her cheek, stands, and walks out of the room confidently.

As soon as she turns the corner, she wraps her arms around herself, taking a shuddering breath. Had Madame B known what that man would do? Was it a test? Was she supposed to kill him?

Could she have killed him?

Natalia's biggest secret is that this life _terrifies_ her.

“But you’ve had such a worthy life, my dear.”

Natalia whips around, crouching down to prepare to launch at her new company.

She studies the unfamiliar woman. She has a pale skin and striking eyes, cheekbones resting above an all-knowing smirk, looking almost...proud of Natalia. She has jet-black hair and an even darker demeanor about her. Natalia is instantly uncomfortable, but she won’t show it.

“Can you read my thoughts?” Natalia asks the woman. She’s heard of magic and witches before, and never believed any of it, but her training has taught her to never doubt what she cannot see. “Who are you?”

“Read thoughts? No, I’m afraid that’s not one of _my_ skills,” the woman laughs, her tone suggesting she perhaps knows someone who possesses that skill. “I’ve just had practice studying people, is all. I figured you were feeling...shall we say, disillusioned with your life. I wanted to assure you that your life has been rather valuable to me.”

“Why?” Natalia asks, crossing her arms and relaxing her posture. If she’s right in her thinking, this woman isn’t here to harm her.

If she’s wrong, she’ll probably die.

“You’ve brought me many lives, Natasha,” the woman says appreciatively. “You’re ambitious. You remind me of myself, so long ago. I do hope you know you haven’t even scratched the surface of your potential.”

“You don’t look very old,” Natalia comments. She furrows her brow. “I think you have the wrong girl. My name is Natalia, not Natasha.”

“Not yet, at least,” the woman murmurs knowingly, stepping forward to Natalia. She plays with her red hair for a moment, admiring it. “My, my. You have no idea the great things you’ll do, little one. You’re one of the few humans I would bother saving under my rule.”

“Your rule?” Natalia questions, on edge again. This woman is talking like she’s not human, like she’s not from here. “Does Madame B know you’re here?”

The woman smiles, an almost terrifying expression, and Natalia unconsciously takes a step back.

“I’m not here,” she says simply. “Not really. But I’m waiting for you to find me.”

Natalia is fed up with the vague answers. She rests her weight on her back leg before springing forward to tackle the woman, and ends up falling on her side on the floor.

The woman is gone.

Natalia scrambles to her feet, looking around frantically, chest heaving. What the hell just happened?

She shakily makes her way to the dining hall. Before she can enter the room, something orange and sparkly appears in front of her before she can process what it is, and engulfs her whole.

~

Natasha’s eyes fly open.

“Sorry for such an abrupt awakening, but I figured you’d want to be awake for this,” Dr. Strange says, emotionless, walking past her. “We’re having a discussion with our guests.”

Natasha slides off of the sofa and follows him through the sanctum, simultaneously admiring and hating the way he’s always down to business.

“I think my dream could’ve been connected to this. It—”

“Bring it up with the entire group, please,” Dr. Strange interrupts, not rudely, but not politely, either. “I don’t want to hear it alone and have my judgement clouded should a decision need to be reached that requires a majority opinion.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but says nothing, keeping up with his brisk walking pace.

She thinks about her dream. The woman hadn’t been there in the real memory; she knows that for a fact. Natasha doesn’t want to believe it, but she knows that that was Hela. How she found her way into Natasha’s memories while she was sleeping, Natasha doesn’t want to know, but she needs to tell the others.

Before she can bring it up, Dr. Strange leads her into a large kitchen area, where a congregation of people are sitting around a long conference table.

Barnes waves her over to an empty seat beside him. “You recognize any of these folks?” he whispers, glancing around the room with a relaxed expression on his face, his mouth barely moving to indicate he’s saying anything to her.

Natasha nonchalantly glances around at the new arrivals. They all appear human, but she knows how guileless that line of thinking is. Regardless, though, none of them appear familiar to her.

“No,” Natasha whispers back, her lips not moving, so that anyone looking at her wouldn’t know she was talking to him. “Stay cautious, though.”

“You too.”

Thor and Loki are sitting across the table and further down from them, so they don’t have a clear view of Natasha. She doesn’t like this setup, but she’ll roll with it. For now.

Dr. Strange stands at the head of table, and everyone quiets down. He politely nods to them and sighs.

“Welcome, and thank you to everyone for coming here on such short notice,” he says. “Wong sends his regards as well, but he’s upstairs right now, and couldn’t afford to lose any time today. I’ve called you here today due to the recent population surge on this planet.”

The man across from Natasha scoffs. “This planet has had more than one population fluctuation. Why should this particular one concern us?” Around the table, over half of the individuals present nodded in agreement. So, they weren’t from Earth. Nothing surprising there.

“The source of it,” Dr. Strange replies, clearly dissatisfied with the way the man spoke to him. “Believe me, I wouldn’t call you here if I thought this wouldn’t affect you.”

“Well, do enlighten us,” the man encourages, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“The population surge wasn’t due to the creation of new people or the transportation of already exiting beings from other planets,” Dr. Strange says, waving his hands around.

As he does, holographic images of people flash in front of him at a rapid pace, accompanied by what look like medical records and legal documents beside each one. They appear too fast for Natasha to read what any of them say, but they keep coming. Hundreds, thousands of faces, all staring at everyone in the room.

“People who died, had documented proof of death, are suddenly back, living and breathing as if they’d never died in the first place,” he finishes, the faces still rapidly playing in a demented sort of horror video. “These are all the people who weren’t here a year ago, because they were _dead_. They’re all back now.”

Natasha has to hand it to him, he’s been busy. The pictures of the people and their papers were more information than Coulson had. Or at least more information than he’d provided for her – he tended to withhold stuff sometimes.

“That certainly is an anomaly,” a woman comments from further down the table. “However, the point remains. What is the source? How does it affect those of us not from Midgard?”

Thor suddenly stands, his chair scooting back loudly. Loki visibly winces next to him, clearly not wanting him to speak. Natasha wants to roll her eyes at Loki.

“You all are disgraceful,” Thor announces, gesturing to the room. Inhales and gasps are collectively heard from multiple individuals, and Natasha feels the angry energy ignite from the group. She suddenly empathizes with Loki.

“This is clearly the work of an otherworldly being. Midgardians don’t have the power or tools to do such a thing,” Thor continues, ignoring the glares he’s receiving. “I am not of this planet, but I have risked my life to save it, and I would do it again. The people here are _good_. They deserve better than what we’ve given them. This is a problem they cannot solve on their own. I know that I, and the rest of Asgard, will do whatever we can to help.”

“You and Asgard?” the first man who spoke scoffs. “The people of Asgard _live_ on this planet now. You all would be compelled to help Midgardians, regardless of the threat.”

Murmurs of agreement break out among the room. Natasha wants to rub her temples. She feels like she’s on Capitol Hill.

“I agree with Odinson,” a man speaks up, prompting everyone to quiet down. He stands and nods at Thor. “It is our duty to help those who cannot fight by themselves combat this threat.”

“Thank you, Primus,” Dr. Strange says. He raises his eyebrows. “Now, I respect everyone’s respective decisions, but I would like to share with you the source of this problem before you make a definitive decision. We suspect that Odin’s firstborn, Hela, had something to do with this. An act of this nature is right up her alley, and Thor is a known acquaintance of this planet. It makes sense.”

“I thought you were Odin’s firstborn,” someone Natasha can’t see calls out to Thor.

Thor’s expression darkens. “As did I,” he says gravely. “But apparently not. Before I was born, Hela ruled Asgard with Odin. She is the goddess of death. She was imprisoned but broke free after Odin’s death. I…I destroyed Asgard with Ragnarok to kill her. It seems I failed at that.”

Natasha doesn’t like his bitter tone. It’s self-deprecating and vengeful, both very dangerous things for someone to be. Especially someone as powerful as Thor. She makes a mental note to speak with him later.

“Nonetheless, we have reason to believe that Hela is acting, and we don’t know how. Those of you who are familiar with her know the power she possesses,” Dr. Strange continues, and Natasha sees some people nod in agreement. “I called you all here to not only ask for any help you can provide, but also as a warning so that you can prepare and defend your own homes as well. If Hela supposedly died, or at the very least was injured and trapped on a destroyed planet, chances are she’s got allies. We need to figure out who they are, what they can do, and what they have planned. If you want to stay and discuss that, please do. If not, I thank you for taking the time and making the distance here to listen to what I had to say.”

Natasha observes curiously as some of the people slowly make their way out, while others stay. She also notes that no one from Sovereign appears to be present. She wonders if that’s just a coincidence, or a deliberate choice on Dr. Strange’s part. What does he know about her time in the alternate dimension?

When only those wanting to help are left, Dr. Strange begins planning communication, defense strategies, trading weapons, and more. Most of it goes over Natasha’s head as she realizes some of them are fellow sorcerers, and she doesn’t know what half of the terms they’re using means. She patiently listens as everyone speaks.

Finally, when they’re finished, Dr. Strange offers rooms for everyone. They slowly trickle out of the room, and Natasha goes over to Thor and Loki. One of the men who had agreed with Thor, Primus, approaches them. He shakes Thor’s and Loki’s hands and then reaches out to Natasha.

“I don’t think I managed to catch your name,” he says, giving her a friendly smile. “You are friends with Odinson, I take it?”

“Natasha Romanoff. And yes, we’ve been fighting alongside each other for a few years now,” Natasha answers, knowing that her definition of ‘a few’ probably differs from theirs. “Thank you, again, on behalf of Earth for doing what you can to help. I appreciate anyone who doesn’t want to see my planet fall apart.”

Primus looks surprised. “You’re from…here?”

“That’s what she just said,” Loki replies, rolling his eyes. “Were you not listening?”

“Yes, I’m from Earth. I’m human,” Natasha speaks up over him.

Primus studies her curiously, not saying anything else. An uneasy feeling washes over Natasha. Can he somehow sense that she has Sovereign DNA in her?

“How do you know each other?” Natasha asks Thor, changing the subject.

“Primus helped me father in a battle, many years ago,” Thor answers, smiling fondly at the memory. “He’s trained by the Shadow Realm. It was an impressive sight.”

“Although technically, no one saw it,” Primus adds, grinning. “I can turn into a living shadow, the closest I can describe without actually doing it. It proves to be quite advantageous when my enemies are looking for me.”

“Sounds like it,” Natasha agrees.

She follows the men out of the room. Barnes is waiting for them in the foyer. Primus leaves them, and Natasha uses this opportunity to huddle together with Thor, Loki, and Barnes.

“I think I saw Hela,” she whispers, cutting straight to the chase. “When I fell asleep earlier, I was reliving a memory, but she was there. I know for a fact that woman wasn’t there originally. It felt like she was talking to _me_ now, not my younger self. Is that even possible?”

Loki furrows his brows, thinking. “It’s definitely possible,” he admits. “Although why Hela would waste her energy on something like that, I know not. And you haven’t encountered her before…”

“So she knows you’re caught up in this,” Barnes finishes, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, is she going to come to me in my sleep, too? I’ve had enough mind games to last three lifetimes.”

Natasha frowns sympathetically at him. Thor looks around. They’re alone in the foyer right now, but Natasha knows that he’s wondering who was paying attention to them at the meeting, who could be listening to them right now. She’s wondering the same damn things.

“Strange said we’ll reconvene tomorrow evening. Many of those who volunteered to assist with this have to contact others and update them first,” Loki says. “I suggest we leave for the night. Go somewhere more secure.”

“I have a safehouse not far from here,” Natasha agrees.

The four of them quickly leave Bleecker Street. It’s dark outside, nearly midnight, and Natasha realizes with a start that they must have spent over five hours at Strange’s place. It had felt much shorter.

They walk together for awhile, not having to worry about being spotted together, since the streets aren’t terribly crowded tonight. When they get closer, Natasha tells Thor and Loki the apartment number, and tells them to wait five minutes after she goes up to enter. She turns to tell Barnes to wait ten minutes after them and hide somewhere, but he’s already out of sight, knowing what she was going to say. She wonders if he remembers doing the same routine just like this, when they were both different people.

Natasha jogs up the stairs to the top floor of the apartment building and makes her way to her door. She hasn’t been here since she’d been on the run with Steve and Sam, and even then, she’d stayed here on a night when the three of them split up, just to throw anyone on their trail off. This was one of the few safehouses that only she and Clint and Coulson knew about.

She freezes when she gets to the door. To the average eye, nothing might seem out of place, but alarms are going off in her head. The welcome mat outside the door is fresh-looking and appears almost brand new. She distinctly remembers wiping muddy, bloody boots on the welcome mat more than once before, and she knows Clint and Coulson wouldn’t take the time to clean it. The door is also pulled shut closer to the frame than they normally leave it.

Someone’s been inside.

Thor and Loki start walking down the hall toward her. She turns to look at them with serious eyes.

“Someone’s been in. It’s compromised. Let’s get a hotel,” she whispers, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She can’t tell if the safehouse had been compromised a week ago or years ago, but either way, it’s not safe to go in.

“How do you know?” Loki asks. “We’ve got two gods and two assassins. I’m sure we’ll be fine for one night.”

“I just know,” Natasha answers gravely. If anyone is good enough to break into one of her safehouses, they’re in danger. “We wait for Barnes, and then we leave.”

When Barnes eventually comes down the hallway, he looks more shaken than Natasha.

“Why aren’t you inside?” he demands. “We can’t let people see us!”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha hisses. “We can’t go in. It’s been compromised. We were waiting for you to go somewhere else.”

Barnes turns around to look behind him, as if to check to ensure no one’s there. “No, no, we can’t leave now. Come on. We have to go inside for just a little, at least. To figure this out.”

“To figure what out?” Thor asks. “If Natasha doesn’t want to go inside—”

“Screw this,” Bucky mutters. He bends down in front of the door shoves one of the fingers from his metal arm against the knob. It clicks into the lock, and the door easily opens. “We need to get inside. Now. I’ll explain, just hurry.”

He makes a show of checking for any wires or bugs when he’s inside for Natasha’s sake, and she rolls her eyes at him. She turns on the lights and locks the door behind them. The apartment _looks_ the same; Clint hadn’t redecorated, to her relief. The furniture is all in place, but still, Natasha can’t shake the feeling that the safehouse has been messed with somehow.

She and Barnes inspect the apartment, making sure there’s no video or audio bugs inside. When they both deem it safe for the time being, they all meet in the living room on the couch.

“I was waiting by a fast food place with the news on,” Barnes explains. “Can you turn on the TV?”

Natasha silently nods. She reaches into the basket on the coffee table for the remote, but grabs nothing but air. She swears to herself and bends down to look under the coffee table. She makes the men check under the couch cushions, but they don’t find it, either. The remote is gone.

A small detail like that might seem insignificant to most people, and they might simply just utilize the buttons on the side of the television, but this is bad news for Natasha. Clint and Coulson are always very good about keeping their safehouses in check so that they all know if one’s been messed with. The remote _always_ goes in the basket. Always.

“Look, we’ll deal with the intruder later,” Barnes says. “You’ve got bigger problems right now, Romanoff.”

“What happened?” Natasha asks, running a hand through her hair anxiously and collapsing on the couch.

Barnes takes a deep breath. “There’s been a string of murders all throughout this month, apparently. They finally have a suspect.”

“Oh, is it Hela?” Loki asks sarcastically. “_That_ is the biggest concern currently.”

“Not Hela,” Barnes says, shaking his head. His eyes zero in on Natasha, making her sit up cautiously. “It’s _you_. They think Natasha Romanoff killed ten people this month, and there’re orders to kill on sight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Let me know what you think! I didn't think I'd get a chapter up this month because of midterms, but I did, so hopefully the next one will be up sooner rather than later! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint shoots an arrow at the cloud. It disappears inside for a moment before being thrust back out onto the carpeted floor, shattered into multiple pieces.
> 
> Clint stares at it, dumbfounded. “That had Vibranium in it.”
> 
> Natasha inhales sharply, remembering a story Thor had told her, about Mjölnir, about—
> 
> “Hela,” Natasha says coolly, when the woman emerges from the cloud.
> 
> The goddess of death grins sharply at her. “Natalia. How _nice_ to finally meet you in person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!! This one has over 6,800 words, so I think that makes up for it :) There's finally some action in this one! Let me know what you think!!

Barnes slams the landline telephone down, swearing softly. “That was Rhodes. He said he’s been specifically assigned a detail to cover a region of the Midwest in search of you. He doesn’t believe the news, obviously, but he has to keep up appearances.”

Natasha rubs her temples, sighing deeply. This isn’t the first time she’s been accused of crimes she didn’t actually commit; this won’t be the first time she’s had to lay low in the States. But this is the first time she’s had to do so when a supernatural threat is going on and she has two gods and an ex-assassin with her.

She’s racked her brain, trying to think of _someone_ who would not only benefit from seeing her out of the picture – which is, unfortunately, probably a lot of people – but also have the skills to get her there – a considerably less number of people. There’s no one off the top of her mind who would benefit from seeing her go down, not right now, when she hasn’t done many missions since returning from the alternate universe.

She’s going to have hunt.

That’s a problem – not for her necessarily, but whoever thinks they can bring Natasha Romanoff down without any repercussions.

Thor leans across the kitchen counter, his upper body reaching for Natasha and Barnes in the living room. “Natasha, you wouldn’t happen to have any Heineken hidden in this refrigerator, would you?”

Loki scoffs, entering the living room from the bathroom. He seats himself in the loveseat and frowns at Thor condescendingly. “I thought you were cutting back on that pathetic Midgardian excuse for alcohol.”

“I haven’t had any in three days! I’m thirsty.”

“Clint’s more of a Budweiser guy, so no Heineken,” Natasha answers absentmindedly. “We haven’t been here in awhile. There’s only water.”

She flips through her notebook of contacts that’s kept in this safehouse. It has everything from potential allies to old enemies, spanning dozens of pages and hundreds of names. Not one of them seems like a plausible culprit.

“Did you contact Barton?” Loki questions.

Natasha nods. “He hasn’t been here in years. He offered to go check up on some other locations of ours, see if anything’s amiss there, but I’d rather he stayed with his family. If someone’s good enough to know the location of one of our safehouses, chances are they could figure out where they live.”

Barnes peeks over Natasha’s shoulder to try the next contact in the book. He types the name into Natasha’s laptop, courtesy of Tony, and begins prowling for any potential red flags. They’d alerted Tony to what was going on, and he’d connected Natasha’s tech to a program that allowed for untraceable, encrypted searches.

“Hey, you’ve been up for nearly 24 hours,” Natasha gently chides him. She pats his shoulder with her tablet that she’s been using to look people up on. “Go take a nap in the bedroom.”

“So have you,” Barnes argues, eyes not leaving the screen. “I’m fine, really. Let’s at least finish this column of names.”

He types something else in, sighs, and then looks up to meet her eyes. Natasha gives him a small smile in thanks. She won’t say it out loud, but she knows that Barnes is so keen on helping her is because he’d been in the same situation back in 2016.

A loud slam causes both of them to whip around to see Thor sheepishly holding up a Brita filter pitcher to the sink.

“Sorry,” he expresses, holding his hands up. “Tad heavier than I imagined it to be. Carry on.”

“Do you plan on assisting at all in this endeavor, Thor?” Loki questions, using Clint’s laptop that had been left in the bedroom to watch security footage from outside the building that he’d stolen from the front desk. “Or are you simply going to focus on beverages all day?”

“I was up all night with you all looking for clues! The few minutes I stop looking to get a drink aren’t going to yield any results,” Thor insists, pouring water into a clean cup and chugging half of it.

“Got something,” Loki announces a moment later, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Barnes gives Thor a pointed look.

Natasha scoots closer to the edge of the couch to try and see what Loki’s caught. “What is it?” She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous.

“Three days ago, this person exited the building,” Loki says, pausing the footage on the laptop and pointing. “But I went back weeks before, and there’s no evidence that they ever _entered_ the building.”

“Maybe they were just cooped up here for a while,” Barnes suggests. “I don’t want to go chasing leads if it ends up being a dead end.”

“It’s not, if you’d let me finish,” Loki snaps. He presses the space bar on the laptop to resume the video, and they all watch as the person steps off the front stoop of the building, walks down the sidewalk for a few seconds, and then vanishes into thin air, as if they were never there in the first place.

Natasha grabs the laptop from him and replays the loop. It’s difficult to discern whether the person is young or old, a man or a woman, since they’re wearing a long trench coat and hat. But one thing is for certain: there are some supernatural elements at play here.

_This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for._

“If we go to that spot, could you trace the magic? Perhaps we could see its origins and get more details that way,” Thor says to Loki.

“It’s a possibility. It depends on how skilled the wielder is,” Loki muses. “Even if I _am_ able to, doing so might alert whoever cast this that…well, that we’re onto them. Is that what we want? We’re not considering any other options, like laying low?”

“Laying low just wastes time,” Barnes sighs. “Trust me. I spent a couple years doing that in Wakanda, and I still ended up getting caught in the middle of the firefight. I say we go for it.” After a beat, he adds, “That all, of course, depends on what Romanoff wants to do.”

Natasha suddenly misses Clint with such an intense fierceness that she has to clear her throat and stand up. She knows that Clint would come help her if she called; knows that, no matter how much he loves his children and his wife and their animals on the farm, Clint will never be able to resist the fight.

If she’s being honest, she’s never been able to resist it very well, either.

“Trace it,” she says firmly, nodding to Loki. Barnes raises his chin at her, and she nods in confirmation. “I want to know who this son of a bitch is.”

Loki nods agreeably and stands. A second later, his figure shimmers, and he materializes as a teenaged pizza delivery boy.

“I saw him outside the window earlier,” he explains, his voice much higher in pitch than normal.

Barnes stares at him in surprise. “That’s…convenient.”

“Come, brother,” Thor says. “Let’s go trace this magic.”

“What help would you be exactly, Thor?” Loki asks sarcastically. “I don’t need you to accompany me. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“No, he’s right,” Natasha expresses. “If we don’t know who or what this is, you shouldn’t be going alone.” As much as Loki can get on her nerves, she’d rather not have him get kidnapped right now, in addition to everything else that’s going on.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Well, Thor’s not exactly the epitome of stealth. If someone is watching us, we’ll be made before I can even start tracing the magic.”

Natasha juts her chin out at Barnes. “He’s a spy. Go on.”

Neither of the men look too happy about the arrangement, but they wordlessly exit the apartment. Natasha sits back down on the couch and stares at the muted television. It’s still on the news, but there haven’t been any updates on her story.

Thor makes his way into the living room, carrying a newly filled glass of water in one hand and a Pop-Tart in the other.

“If Loki recognizes the magic, we know many people across the Nine Realms that could be of assistance,” Thor tells Natasha.

She gives him a tired smile, appreciating the thought. But she figures if Dr. Strange couldn’t even get everyone to stay on behalf of the whole planet, her individual problem won’t be very convincing.

“It’s alright. I’ve been through worse,” she says honestly. “If we even get in contact with anyone not from here, I want it to be focused on Hela. That’s what’s important.”

Thor chews on his Pop-Tart thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, mouth full, “just because there are big problems out there, it doesn’t make the small ones matter any less.”

Natasha gives him an exaggerated gasp, a smile tugging at her lips. “Is this one-of-a-kind advice from the King of Asgard himself?”

“_Former_ King of Asgard,” Thor corrects, playfully serious, pointing the Pop-Tart at her.

“Well, I’m honored to have a king, former or not, on my side,” Natasha informs him. “I mean, two gods and a former assassin working with me right now. Whoever’s framing me couldn’t have foreseen that.”

“The former assassin _does_ seem very intent on figuring this out,” Thor mentions casually.

Natasha picks up one of the throw pillows on the couch and whacks Thor with it. “What was that tone?”

Thor finishes off the Pop-Tart and gives her a startlingly serious expression before softening into a soft smile. “Natasha, I have witnessed interactions between men and women for thousands of years. You and Barnes have history, do you not? Like you and Banner?”

Natasha’s heart clenches. _Bruce._ She hadn’t seen him in a while. She wonders if he’s seen the news, if he believes the media or thinks she’s innocent.

_What did you dream?_

_That I was an Avenger. That I was anything more than the assassin they made me._

_I think you’re being hard on yourself._

“Uh, no,” she chuckles dryly, “not like me and Bruce. Barnes and I…” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “I mean, he didn’t used to be Barnes to me. I only call him that now because I don’t know what else to call him. James seems too informal, and Bucky implies that we’re…”

“Friends?” Thor probes. He seems genuinely curious, not like just wants to know the gossip. “Are you not?”

“He used to be Zima to me,” Natasha says quietly, a faint smile on her lips, memories flickering through her mind. “That’s when I used to be Natalia. After he was separated from Steve and the US Army when he fell off a train, acquaintances of the people who trained me found him and trained him. We, obviously, then trained together. We were both good, and we were both dedicated. Too dedicated, probably. If we’d been less so, we probably would have defected and run away together.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “And then we wouldn’t be stuck in this mess right now.”

Natasha watches Thor cautiously, gauging his reaction. She’s never shared that with anyone besides Clint, and she’d only shared that with him after she realized who she and Steve were chasing in 2014. Everyone else who’s familiar with Barnes wouldn’t understand. She isn’t even sure if Thor will; but he wasn’t on Earth then to see firsthand the damage the Winter Soldier had done and supposedly done in 2016, and he isn’t the most familiar with Steve and Bucky’s relationship, so it’s worth a shot.

Thor looks contemplative. “An old bond, one that words cannot explain. Something so unique that, once broken, it cannot ever be fully replaced.”

“For lack of a better term, yeah,” Natasha sighs. She smirks a bit. “I guess you know what I’m talking about. And who knew you had some Shakespeare in you?”

“I am not familiar with this man, although Stark referenced him to me many years ago, so I assume he is of noble standing.”

There’s a knock at the door. Natasha gets up and checks the peephole. She opens the door to let Barnes and Loki in. Immediately, Loki transforms from the young pizza boy back into himself.

“Were you successful?” Thor asks. “Natasha has decided that she doesn’t want use other resources from the Nine Realms on her case, and to focus them on Hela if they’re willing instead. The bigger picture, one could say.”

“Well, we don’t need to worry about differentiating and splitting that up,” Loki says, his expression serious. “I traced the magic. Its source is powerful, and reminds me of Asgard. The _old_ Asgard, not the one here on Midgard.”

Natasha crosses her arms, not liking what she’s hearing. “What exactly are you saying?”

Loki gives her what could almost be an apologetic look. “I believe the one responsible for the false accusations of you murdering those people is Hela.”

~

Natasha bristles when the bedroom door opens. She’d told the men that she was going to take a nap since they’d been up all through the night trying to figure out who was responsible for framing her, but she felt even more restless now. For some reason, Hela was messing with Earth, and Natasha specifically. Why?

Natasha was good at reading people – but Hela wasn’t exactly a person now, was she? There weren’t any records Natasha could pull to piece together Hela’s life. All she had available to her was Thor and Loki’s stories, and even those were subpar as their only encounters with her involved her trying to kill them.

She sits up in bed and raises an eyebrow at Loki, smirking slightly. “You know, not many men get into a bedroom with me and live to tell the tale.”

Instead of throwing back a joke at her or simply sneering, Loki frowns and seats himself at the bench in front of the bed. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Natasha questions.

Loki waves his hand in the air, as if searching for the right word. “_That_. Make jokes during serious situations that are…self-deprecating, some might say.”

“Would they, now?” Natasha muses, studying him. Is he trying to do a character study on her?

Loki doesn’t answer. He stares out the window, seemingly deep in thought.

“Why are you helping me?” Natasha asks suddenly, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She tilts her head to the side. “If Hela thinks you tried to kill her, aren’t you just putting yourself in danger?”

Loki takes a deep breath and turns to face her, a surprisingly earnest expression on his face.

“I am the god of mischief,” he says matter-of-factly. “However, _I_ do not enjoy being lied to. Learning that everything you’ve ever been told is fiction…it hurts.”

Natasha nods in agreement, still not impressed with his answer. “It does. That doesn’t explain why you’re here, helping me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Romanoff. My detestation for Hela far outweighs my partiality for you.” Loki tilts his head at her, something like a smile tugging at his lips. It unnerves Natasha; she’s not sure what game he’s playing here.

But she’s not too proud to refuse help when she needs it. Without Loki and Thor, she knows her chances against Hela are much slimmer.

“Do you ever wish you’d stayed on Sovereign?” Natasha wonders aloud. “Tony, Gamora, and I sort of screwed up your little hideaway there. But if we hadn’t, how long would you have kept up the act?”

Loki seems somewhat surprised at the mention of Sovereign. “I thought you didn’t care to discuss the fact that alien DNA—”

“I _don’t_,” Natasha cuts in coolly, squaring her shoulders. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Well, I see no reason to further discuss Sovereign. It was a nice place, a _civilized_ place, but I was there for a mere decade. It didn’t leave much of a lasting impression on me. However, it was certainly more welcoming that Asgard and Odin would have been.”

Natasha sometimes finds it hard to believe that Loki and Thor are thousands of years old. It unnerves her to think that in a thousand years, when she’s long gone and hopefully buried somewhere nice, they’ll likely still be healthy and fighting, the Avengers but a small imprint in their minds.

“You really don’t think about it?” Natasha probes further. “Doesn’t it worry you that they might figure a way to get to our reality and hunt us down?”

“Right now, I believe Hela should be our biggest worry,” Loki sniffs. He narrows his eyes. “Why? Do _you_ think about Sovereign?”

“No,” Natasha answers.

She definitely doesn’t think about her new abilities after she’s run ten miles _and_ sparred with Clint while hardly breaking a sweat. She definitely doesn’t think about the camaraderie she’d felt going on the missions when she goes to sleep alone in her overpriced apartment. She definitely doesn’t think about what it felt like to look out from a ship at the great expanse of space itself when she’s sitting in traffic during rush hour.

No, she definitely doesn’t think about Sovereign.

The two of them sit in silence for awhile before Barnes calls them back out. Natasha exhales. So much for getting any sleep.

They make their way into the living room. It’s decided that sitting around in the apartment isn’t going to get anything done, so Natasha suggests different tasks that need to get done, and proposes that they split up to complete them.

Surprisingly, it isn’t Barnes or Loki protesting Natasha’s plan; it’s Thor.

“Splitting up?” he asks in disbelief, crossing his arms. “The last time I was with you and we _split up_ you died, Natasha. We’re staying together.”

“I need to talk to Clint,” Natasha insists. She silently adds _and Phil_ in her head. “It’s already risky enough me meeting him, but if I bring you three…I mean, no offense, but we’re not going to be the poster children for stealth.”

“We’ve all got things to do,” Barnes reminds him.

He’d volunteered to go to Steve and explain everything that was going on, from the situation with the population, the threat of Hela, and the truth about Natasha’s innocence. She silently hoped that the third objective wouldn’t be necessary, that Steve would know she hadn’t resorted back to her old ways.

But just in case, Barnes was going instead of her.

Loki was going to go with Thor to other planets to try and figure out how Hela had survived Ragnarok. It was unsettling to see Thor, one of the strongest beings Natasha knows, so shaken up at the fact that she was evidently alive.

Thor casts a quick, worried glance at his brother. No one else catches it except for Natasha. She knows that he’s worried, since the last time he and his brother were on a mission, Loki had been killed.

There really wasn’t anything she could do to comfort him now, though.

“Be careful,” she tells the men. “We’ll reconvene later. I can probably find Barnes, but use Strange as a mutual contact if you need to get in touch when you’re off-planet.”

Neither of the gods look too happy about it, but they nod. Loki offers his arm to Thor, murmurs an incantation, and the two of them disappear in a puff of smoke.

“Unnatural,” Barnes mutters.

Natasha smirks at him. “Give Steve my love. If you stay at his place, I can get in contact with you. Tony’s got a secured line set up to his phone. If not, stay in the area, and I’ll figure out a way to find you.”

“Not if I get ahold of you first,” Barnes says.

At first Natasha bristles, not appreciating being talked back to, but then she relaxes as she realizes he just tried to crack a joke with her. She tilts her head at him, smiling. “Unlikely. I’ll know if you’re on me.” Her tone is teasing, but her words are serious.

_Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature_.

~

Natasha leans her head down, hiding her face with both sides of the payphone box. She enters the coins from her pocket in and dials a phone number.

“Viola’s Avian Hospital. How can I help ya?” a thick Boston accent drawls on the other end.

“Hi, I was wondering if I could meet someone for a consultation off-site,” Natasha says, using a thick Jersey accent.

“Sure thing, sure thing. Tomorrow sound good?”

Natasha purposefully waits seven seconds before answering. “Yes, sir, perfect. That’ll give me just enough time to get some breakfast at Taco Bell beforehand. Would you mind confirming this with my insurance guy, too, please?”

“Yes, ma’am. See you then.”

Natasha hangs up and lets out a breath, mentally repeating the meet in her head. Clint will know to tell Coulson they’re meeting in New Jersey at seven in the morning at their safehouse across from a Taco Bell. Hopefully, if anyone was listening in on that call, they won’t know that.

She walks for a few blocks, her hair concealed in a hat with a sweatshirt hood pulled over top. When she reaches a large grocery store, she crosses the parking lot, careful to avoid any cameras, until she reaches an old Subaru that has seen better days. For some reason, there are always abandoned cars in the furthest sections of parking lots. She’s never bothered to find out why, but she does know that it’s worked in her favor before, and it apparently will now.

Looking around to ensure no one has seen her, Natasha nonchalantly pulls part of a wired hanger she’d gotten from the safehouse and slides it down the window until the car door unlocks. She breathes a sigh of relief and quickly gets into the car, looking around. There’s some rumpled clothes in the backseat and a lighter in the passenger seat, and the Little Trees air freshener that’s hanging from the window definitely isn’t working, but it’s not a bad ride.

She rummages around the glove compartment. Fury had once told her that if someone was careless enough to leave their car somewhere, changes are, they could leave a spare key inside the car too.

Sure enough, Natasha finds a spare key fob, and after two tries, the car reluctantly starts up. There’s less than half a tank of gas left, but Natasha figures it will be enough to get her to Jersey, so she puts the car in drive and pulls out of the lot. She fiddles around with the radio until it lands on a news station in case they say anything about her or update the information about the murders.

She grips the steering wheel tightly as she begins her drive. She almost wishes she’d gone with Barnes to see Steve; she hasn’t seen him in awhile, and his optimism and confidence would be highly welcome right now.

_This is gonna work, Steve._

_I know it is. Because I don’t know what I’m gonna do if it doesn’t._

~

Natasha’s a couple of hours early when she arrives at the Jersey safehouse. She parks the car about ten blocks away and walks to the house. It’s in a small, suburban neighborhood by the beach with neighbors who are friendly enough to not be hostile whenever they’re in town and using the house, but not so friendly to be inquisitive as to why they’re not there year round. Phil’s cover story had always been that he, Clint, and Natasha are siblings and their parents bought them this house as a vacation getaway before they’d died. Clint and Natasha found the story lame and just generally tried to avoid contact with people.

She checks around the outside of the house to ensure no one’s recently been in before heading inside. She checks for any bugs, and after not finding any, pads over to the sofa in the living room and collapses on it, exhaustion setting in. She hasn’t slept in nearly two days, and her mind has been occupied with trying to figure out not only how to stop Hela, but also why Hela is framing her. She falls asleep almost instantly.

A few hours later, she’s woken up by Clint shaking her shoulder, a sympathetic smile on his face. “Hey, killer.”

Natasha buries her head in the arm of the sofa, groaning. “Fuck you, Barton.”

“Language, children,” Coulson chides, entering the living room, carrying a big paper bag from Taco Bell. He divides up an assortment of tacos and burritos out to each of the three of them before seating himself besides Natasha on the sofa.

She sits up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She grabs a burrito and hungrily eats half of it before pausing to look at Coulson. “I’m only eating this because I’m starving. I hate Taco Bell; you know that.”

He shrugs sheepishly. “It was the closest thing.”

The three of them eat in silence, the only noise an occasional crunch from a taco shell or a slurp of Clint’s Baja Blast. Natasha can’t remember the last time the three of them all sat down, just them, together like this. It had to be before Coulson’s “death” in 2012.

It’s been too long.

When they’re all finished eating, Coulson gathers up what’s ready to be trash and takes it to the kitchen. Clint lays down on the carpeted floor, resting his head on his arms, and raises an eyebrow at Natasha. “Are we gonna acknowledge how weird this is?”

“Once we clear my name, we can draw straws on who gets to punch Coulson first for not telling us he was alive right after he woke up,” Natasha replies, closing her eyes. “But he did tell me first.”

“What? No way. He’s known me longer. He told me first,” Clint insists. He moves to sit up but then decides against it. He only makes the effort to grab his unfinished Baja Blast. “I found out before SHIELD was revealed to be Hydra.”

“Did you forget who released all of that to the world? I already knew so that I could keep certain things hidden,” Natasha says, nodding her head toward the kitchen to reference Coulson.

Clint sputters for a second before closing his mouth in defeat. Then he gives her a confused smile and furrows his eyebrows. “So he’s ‘Coulson’ now. Not ‘Phil?’”

Natasha shrugs. “I never said he was fully forgiven.”

The man in question enters the living room a minute later, a manila folder in one hand and laptop in the other. He lays out multiple documents on the coffee table, and this is enough to pique Clint’s interest to make him sit up and scoot closer to the table.

Natasha leans forward, studying the papers. As she scans them, she realizes they’re all information about the ten murder victims that she’s being blamed for.

“No patterns, in neither methodology or victim type,” Coulson supplies, already knowing what she was going to ask. “One of them was a single college professor from Canada in her sixties with no kids. Another was a recently married guy who worked at a department store in South Korea. They all happened on different days, different times. There’s no method to the madness.”

“Loki believes Hela is responsible for these deaths,” Natasha responds, flipping through another one of the victim’s files. “This woman died, GSW to the chest, in the Dominican Republic. I’m wondering, can Hela make it seem like someone died from a certain cause, or did she do these things herself, or did she get someone to do them for her?”

She’s met with silence. When she looks up, she finds Coulson sipping his coffee, expectantly looking back at her. Clint has the same expression.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, backtracking. “He used magic to determine that. We’re, like, ninety percent sure it’s her.”

“That would’ve been helpful information to know before we talked on the phone,” Clint grumbles. “I did so much illegal Internet snooping to try and narrow down the real murderer.” He sighs. “How did that meeting you told me about at, uh…Dr. Strange? Yeah, how did that go?”

Natasha sighs. She recounts the events of the last few days, knowing she’d left a lot of it out when Clint had called her after the warrant for the Black Widow had aired.

Coulson folds his hands thoughtfully. “Well, this complicates things.”

Clint shrugs good-naturedly, obviously downplaying the magnitude of the situation for Natasha’s sake. She appreciates the gesture, even if it does nothing to actually help her.

“Hey, we haven’t faced anything we can’t handle yet,” he points out, grinning. “Strike Team Delta, for the win.”

Natasha and Coulson simultaneously roll their eyes at him. Natasha knows Clint is just joking around about their old tactical unit that hasn’t officially been on assignment since 2011, but she also knows that deep down, he misses it – the camaraderie between a small team that doesn’t need words to communicate, people who know what the others are going to do before they’ve even decided themselves, the accountability for having a specific, clear-cut mission to complete and check off.

She knows because she misses it too.

She also knows, though, that Clint hasn’t been on a mission of any type or in the field since going rogue and killing those people in Japan where she’d found him. She doesn’t know if he’s agreed to help her because she’s his friend, or because he’s been itching to get back into a fight for the good guys, or because he wants to make up for what he did during those five years.

Either way, she’s not entirely sure that he’s ready for this.

Before she can tell him so, an odd, high-pitched rumble causes the house to vibrate. Clint’s Baja Blast shakes and falls off the coffee table, spilling onto the cream-colored carpet.

“Oh, come on! Laura just sold our steam cleaner. I don’t know how that’s going to come out,” Clint groans.

“Do we still have vinegar in the pantry? Mix it with some dish soap and water,” Coulson suggests, not looking up from the folder in his hands.

“‘Do we still have vinegar?’ What are we, Neanderthals? Yes, we have vinegar,” Clint mocks, standing up. “Be right back.”

“Guys,” Natasha snaps. She nods at the sky through the large bay window. It’s suddenly become dark and gray, whereas moments before it was cloudless and blue. “Was it supposed to storm today?”

The three of them cautiously step toward the window. Natasha moves her hand to her back, where her gun is securely resting in her belt, and she can see from her peripheral that Coulson is doing the same and Clint is now gripping his quiver.

“Maybe Thor and Loki are back from space?” Clint suggests in a hopeful tone.

“I didn’t tell him where the safehouse is,” Natasha says quietly. It would definitely work in their favor if this was just Thor, but deep down in her gut, she knows it’s not.

The three of them subconsciously stand back-to-back in a triangle, ready to fend off the potential threat.

Suddenly, a black cloud appears _inside_ the living room, with specks of green light flying around. Natasha slips her Widow’s Bites onto her wrists, not liking this.

Clint shoots an arrow at the cloud. It disappears inside for a moment before being thrust back out onto the carpeted floor, shattered into multiple pieces.

Clint stares at it, dumbfounded. “That had Vibranium in it.”

Natasha inhales sharply, remembering a story Thor had told her, about Mjölnir, about—

“Hela,” Natasha says coolly, when the woman emerges from the cloud.

The goddess of death grins sharply at her. “Natalia. How _nice_ to finally meet you.”

“I go by Natasha now,” Natasha replies. She can’t tell if Hela is about to attack or is going to keep talking. “But I’m guessing you know that, seeing as you have me framed for murder right now.”

“Mmm, yes. Necessary, I felt, to get your attention,” Hela replies casually. She places her hands on her hips and looks around. “Gods, are all Midgardian homes this drab?” She finally looks at Clint and Coulson. “I’m guessing you two are responsible for the interior here. Why _white_ floors?”

“To really bring out the color of your blood on it,” Clint growls, firing another arrow at her.

Hela easily catches it in her right hand while covering a yawn with her left. She snaps the bow in half and tosses it on the ground before snapping her fingers.

From the black cloud, suddenly multiple figures fall through, a horrid mix of beings that look halfway between human and skeleton. Their skin is pale and gray, they all have glowing green eyes, and the sounds emitting from their mouths are akin to animal growls.

Natasha manages to count fifteen of them before she has to stop to start fighting them. They’re vicious in their attacks, no method to their fighting at all; they just seem to want to attack them. Natasha tries to shoot the first one that lunges at her, but the bullet simply pierces its chest, not rendering any major damage.

She curses to herself and dives behind the side table adjacent to the sofa, fumbling below it for the old machete kept there. Once she grabs it, she thrusts it up at the monster towering over her, and pulls the sword out quickly. It staggers for a second before continuing to advance on her, so she slices across its torso, effectively separating its upper body from its legs. The light in its eyes goes out as it falls to the ground, motionless.

Shit. So these things don’t kill easy.

She rolls backward and up onto her feet. Another one charges at her, and she takes two running steps before leaping onto the side table and using the height to get on the monster’s back, wrapping her legs around its neck. She raises the sword up in the air and brings it down onto the skull, and hops off as the monster collapses.

Natasha takes a second to see how Clint and Coulson are doing. Coulson quickly fires three rounds into the head of one of the monsters, and the light goes out in its eyes as it tumbles onto the coffee table. Clint, meanwhile, has pulled out his samurai-style sword, and is putting it to good use on the monsters.

The black cloud is gone now, but there’s still at least a dozen monsters in the living room. Natasha joins the fight again, putting all of her effort into dismembering the skeletons, stabbing their heads, and covering Clint and Coulson when they need it.

Finally, _finally_, they’ve defeated all of the monsters. Natasha rests her hands on her hips, breathing heavy, and kneels down beside one of them. She’d been referring to them as ‘monsters’ in her mind, but upon further inspection, they don’t just _look_ like skeletons; they _are_ skeletons.

Which means they were once people.

When she looks up, she can see that Clint and Coulson have made the same conclusion. Clint has a gash on his bicep, and Coulson looks more tousled than Natasha has ever seen him, but they all seem to be in fairly good conditions, all things considering.

“What the hell do we do with these things?” Clint asks, kicking one with his boot.

“Where the hell did they come from?” Coulson responds, looking around. “Were they supposed to kill us?”

“I don’t think so,” Natasha says. “Why would Hela go through all that trouble to bring some of the dead back to life and frame me for murder to just kill us? There’s something more going on.” She looks around. “Did either of you see where she went?”

Clint opens his mouth to answer when suddenly Hela appears in a flash behind him, holding his neck tightly with one hand and a foreign-looking black blade with multiple edges on it.

“Here I am, darling,” Hela says, looking around at the damage they’d done to the skeletons with something like admiration in her eyes. “You know, the witch said you were impressive, Natalia, but that was still _much_ more entertaining than I thought it would be. I was worried beforehand I would have to intervene to save you.”

“I don’t need saving,” Natasha grits out, pointing her gun at Hela’s head. “Let Clint go.”

“You won’t shoot me,” Hela teases confidently. “I—”

Natasha fires a single round at Hela’s leg. The goddess buckles and staggers back, giving Clint enough leeway to roll forward and pivot back to Hela, pointing his sword at her neck.

Hela laughs. She curiously fingers the bullet in her thigh before shoving her pointer and middle fingers inside the wound, forcefully pulling it out.

Coulson glances at Natasha with a horrified expression. To someone who doesn’t know him, that might merely look like a simple raise of his eyebrows and a frown on his lips, but Natasha can read him well.

“I was told you were more curious than that, my dear,” Hela sighs, flicking the bullet to the ground. “I thought I would merely be able to talk to you here, but perhaps you need a more interactive presentation. You’ll be coming with me.”

“Thor was right,” Natasha replies evenly, her gun still pointed at Hela. “You _are_ crazy. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

She briefly wonders what would happen if Hela were to kill them right now. No one knows where they are exactly; Clint refrained from disclosing most of the safehouse locations to Laura so as to not implicate her in anything, and Natasha doubts Thor and Loki would know where New Jersey was. Her best bet right now is probably Barnes, but he isn’t expecting contact from her for at least a day.

In other words, no one would know they were dead.

So there must be a reason Hela is keeping them alive so far; the skeletons were a test of some sort. Natasha figures they passed, but she isn’t too keen on moving on to the next level.

Hela chuckles, but there’s no humor behind it. “My dear, I wasn’t giving you a choice. I was simply letting you know what’s about to happen. Your friends can come, don’t worry.” She snaps her fingers, and the black cloud appears again.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve had enough of the magic bullshit for a lifetime,” Clint spits, inching forward with his sword.

“But I’ve been wanting to speak with you as well, darling,” Hela chides, tilting her head. Her eyes twinkle mischievously. “You, too, have granted me such _wonderful_ gifts. You call yourself Clinton, correct? Or…is it Ronin?”

Clint swallows but keeps his sword steady. “That was before. That was when Thanos—”

“Yes, yes, he killed half of humanity. It’s been years!” Hela interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Life goes on. _I_ helped to make it so.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows at Hela’s words. She figured that Hela would have been very appreciative of Thanos killing half of humanity, but evidently not; if anything, Hela’s words imply that she wanted people to move on after it. Why?

“I think they’ve made it clear that they don’t want to go,” Coulson says, in his diplomatic, friendly, innocent-sounding tone. “So why don’t you pack it up and get out of here before we make you regret crossing us?”

Natasha almost smiles. She’d missed Coulson.

Hela sighs. “I tried to make this easy on everyone. I really did.”

More skeletons march out of the cloud, this time with huge axes and spears and celestial-looking weapons that make Natasha falter. They march out by the dozens, and Natasha loses count after forty of them enter the living room. The space is crammed with them, and more keep coming out; only now, actual humans are exiting the cloud, looking like anyone on Earth, except for the fact that their eyes are glowing bright green.

Coulson takes a step back closer to Natasha. Clint lowers his sword. They may be strong, but they’re not stupid; they know when they’re outnumbered and outgunned.

Natasha’s head snaps to Clint when he makes a strangled sound. She can’t clearly see him with the dozens of skeletons and undead humans all around them, but she can see part of his face; he looks shocked.

She follows his gaze and swallows thickly when she sees who Clint looking at. The person is wearing a familiar black and gray workout suit, with six holes in the material where bullets had once torn through in the process of protecting Clint in Sokovia.

“Isn’t that the Maximoff brother?” Coulson whispers to Natasha. “Died in 2015?”

Natasha manages to nod shakily as she stares at Pietro Maximoff, looking exactly the same as the day he died – the only difference is he now has glowing green eyes.

“Well, this was all a bit dramatic, but I hope this makes you reconsider your position,” Hela says proudly. She gestures to the cloud, which Natasha now realizes is a portal. “I won’t tell you again. You’re coming with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read all that, thank you so much!!! I was a bit at a standstill in this chapter and didn't really know what I wanted to add, but then Disney+ dropped that deleted scene on Vormir with Clint and Nat, and it reignited my love for them :') I'm not sure when the next time I'll be updating will be, but hopefully it will be soon since I have Thanksgiving break coming up. But if not - then hopefully the Black Widow trailer will have dropped by the next update (I'm guessing the first week of December based off previous trailers for other movies!) so we can see even more of Nat. :)


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